Read Online Death by Scones by Jennifer Fischetto - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Fischetto
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Mom's closest friends were Dad, Uncle Doug, and Aunt Sandra. We had been a close family.
When I reached Nathan's house, I didn't hesitate and rolled up the walkway. It was long, and I moved slowly, somewhat nervous about who would answer the door. The white Toyota Camry that was parked there the first time I rode past was there now.
An older man in dark-gray pants, a white T-shirt, and red suspenders held a pair of shears to a tall, flowering bush. He was probably at the invisible line that separated his property from Nathan's. He stared at me hard, and I could've sworn he growled. What did I do to him?
I lifted the heavy, old knocker on Nathan's door and brought it down, several times.
The old man growled again, this time with some murmurs under his breath.
I considered rolling away, but the door opened, and I was taken aback.
A man about my age in loose-fitting jeans and an olive-green T-shirt stood there. His feet were bare. A dark crop of spiky hair covered the top of his head, and black-rimmed glasses sat crooked on his face. He blinked several times and squinted at the sunlight, as if I'd just woken him, or maybe the dirt-crusted windows had made it dim inside. "Can I help you?"
"Hi. I'm Riley Spencer."
He raised his brows. "Oh, hi."
He'd heard of me? Of course, Riley. I was certain Lester had told him all about the girl who'd "accidentally" killed his relative.
"I don't mean to intrude," I said. "I just wanted to pay my respects." Okay, so I was really just a snoop who wanted answers about the recluse and my mom, but this man didn't need to know that.
He took a step back and opened the door wider. "No, please, come in. I'm Maxwell Dearborn, Max, Uncle Nathan's nephew."
So he did have family. I stepped inside the dimly lit foyer. It was small and unadorned except for a lopsided coat rack.
"I was just in the kitchen going through some things. Please join me. Can I get you some coffee?"
He was awfully friendly considering how and where his uncle died.
"No, thank you. I can't stay long."
I followed him down the hall, which held large billboard-sized portraits of a young Nathan. I stopped in front of a black-and-white photo. He looked debonair with his hair slicked back, wearing a jacket and tie. His complexion was flawless, but black-and-white photos had a way of creating that painted-on look. He looked just like he did in the photo Uncle Doug showed me.
Max stopped and turned my way. He smiled at the portrait. "That was taken after his very first film, The Lighthouse . It was actually about Danger Cove's lighthouse."
I glanced to Max. I'd never heard of it. In junior high school our social studies teacher was a lighthouse enthusiast, but I didn't recall him talking about a movie. "Really?"
Max rubbed the muscles on the back of his neck. "As the story goes, the producer was fascinated with the history of the lighthouse and wanted to make a film about a pirate who came to Danger Cove to look for treasure but fell in love with a local woman. I believe it's based on real history. Do you know of it?"
I shook my head. "I've never been fascinated with pirates or treasures."
Max smiled. "I wasn't either until I began researching. Anyway, when the producer visited Danger Cove to get inspiration, he met Uncle Nathan and immediately knew he was to play the lead. It was just luck that Uncle Nathan was also an aspiring actor. That movie made him an instant success."
I stared at the picture, mesmerized by his high cheekbones and strong jawline. He looked so regal. That wasn't the man in the bakery. What happened to him?
"He changed," Max said as if reading my mind.
I widened my eyes. "Very much so. Why?" It wasn't my business, but it was such a striking difference I had to ask.
Max, however, clamped his lips together. Darkness washed over his features. "He became troubled. The kitchen is this way." He turned and walked off before I could inquire deeper.
I caught a glimpse of a living room with a few boxes and
When I reached Nathan's house, I didn't hesitate and rolled up the walkway. It was long, and I moved slowly, somewhat nervous about who would answer the door. The white Toyota Camry that was parked there the first time I rode past was there now.
An older man in dark-gray pants, a white T-shirt, and red suspenders held a pair of shears to a tall, flowering bush. He was probably at the invisible line that separated his property from Nathan's. He stared at me hard, and I could've sworn he growled. What did I do to him?
I lifted the heavy, old knocker on Nathan's door and brought it down, several times.
The old man growled again, this time with some murmurs under his breath.
I considered rolling away, but the door opened, and I was taken aback.
A man about my age in loose-fitting jeans and an olive-green T-shirt stood there. His feet were bare. A dark crop of spiky hair covered the top of his head, and black-rimmed glasses sat crooked on his face. He blinked several times and squinted at the sunlight, as if I'd just woken him, or maybe the dirt-crusted windows had made it dim inside. "Can I help you?"
"Hi. I'm Riley Spencer."
He raised his brows. "Oh, hi."
He'd heard of me? Of course, Riley. I was certain Lester had told him all about the girl who'd "accidentally" killed his relative.
"I don't mean to intrude," I said. "I just wanted to pay my respects." Okay, so I was really just a snoop who wanted answers about the recluse and my mom, but this man didn't need to know that.
He took a step back and opened the door wider. "No, please, come in. I'm Maxwell Dearborn, Max, Uncle Nathan's nephew."
So he did have family. I stepped inside the dimly lit foyer. It was small and unadorned except for a lopsided coat rack.
"I was just in the kitchen going through some things. Please join me. Can I get you some coffee?"
He was awfully friendly considering how and where his uncle died.
"No, thank you. I can't stay long."
I followed him down the hall, which held large billboard-sized portraits of a young Nathan. I stopped in front of a black-and-white photo. He looked debonair with his hair slicked back, wearing a jacket and tie. His complexion was flawless, but black-and-white photos had a way of creating that painted-on look. He looked just like he did in the photo Uncle Doug showed me.
Max stopped and turned my way. He smiled at the portrait. "That was taken after his very first film, The Lighthouse . It was actually about Danger Cove's lighthouse."
I glanced to Max. I'd never heard of it. In junior high school our social studies teacher was a lighthouse enthusiast, but I didn't recall him talking about a movie. "Really?"
Max rubbed the muscles on the back of his neck. "As the story goes, the producer was fascinated with the history of the lighthouse and wanted to make a film about a pirate who came to Danger Cove to look for treasure but fell in love with a local woman. I believe it's based on real history. Do you know of it?"
I shook my head. "I've never been fascinated with pirates or treasures."
Max smiled. "I wasn't either until I began researching. Anyway, when the producer visited Danger Cove to get inspiration, he met Uncle Nathan and immediately knew he was to play the lead. It was just luck that Uncle Nathan was also an aspiring actor. That movie made him an instant success."
I stared at the picture, mesmerized by his high cheekbones and strong jawline. He looked so regal. That wasn't the man in the bakery. What happened to him?
"He changed," Max said as if reading my mind.
I widened my eyes. "Very much so. Why?" It wasn't my business, but it was such a striking difference I had to ask.
Max, however, clamped his lips together. Darkness washed over his features. "He became troubled. The kitchen is this way." He turned and walked off before I could inquire deeper.
I caught a glimpse of a living room with a few boxes and
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