Read Online Murder at Redwood Cove by Janet Finsilver - Free Book Online Page A

turned to Helen, his hand hovering over the box’s lid. “Are you ready?”
    â€œAbsolutely. You never cease to amaze, and I’m sure this time won’t be any different,” Helen replied.
    With a dramatic flick of his hand, he pulled back the top, reached in, and pulled out a small tray.
    â€œOhh . . .” Helen breathed.
    I took a step closer. Six cupcakes nestled together, but these weren’t just any cupcakes. They were works of art. Each had a musical instrument on top. How did he make the strings for the violin? The keys for the piano? The stands for the drums?
    â€œThose are incredible.” I bent closer.
    Jason rocked up and down on the balls of his feet. “Thank you. Thank you.” He clapped his hands together and moved to get dishes from the counter. “There’s more to come.”
    Jason placed a cupcake on each plate, and Helen handed him a knife. He cut one in half and pushed the sides apart. Chocolate oozed out from the center of the pastry.
    â€œIt’s my version of a lava cake.”
    â€œJason, you’ve outdone yourself.” Helen handed me a fork.
    â€œThanks,” he said. A Cheshire cat couldn’t produce a bigger grin. “I decided on the instruments because I wanted to remind people the event is a fund-raiser for the Redwood Cove Music Festival.”
    â€œThat’s smart,” Helen said.
    â€œTaste. Taste,” he urged me.
    I took a bite and let the chocolate linger in my mouth. This man knew how to bake. “Excellent! Thanks for the treat.”
    Helen nodded in agreement, her mouth filled with cupcake.
    â€œIt was nice to meet you, Jason,” I said. “I need to go get some work done. I look forward to sampling more on Saturday.”
    Back in my room, I started the computer, created a new Word document, and stared at the blank screen. The company wanted to know the circumstances of Bob’s fall from my perspective and whether or not their pamphlets, which included things to avoid, should be changed.
    I began typing. The spot where Bob fell would be considered safe by most coastal standards. In a few brief corporate-speak sentences, I described the scene and proposed that no changes be made in guest recommendations. I noted that an autopsy was being performed to see if an explanation, such as a heart attack, could account for the fall.
    I printed a copy of the report, then pulled a folder from my briefcase labeled B OB P HILLIPS and opened it. It had his company employment information and a brief memo, stating he was found by a tourist at three thirty Monday afternoon. I placed the report in the file folder and put it in a file holder next to the computer. I attached what I had written to an e-mail and sent it off. The report wasn’t the place to discuss my growing belief that Bob was murdered.
    I put on my fleece and hat, making it to the kitchen just as Suzie knocked. I waved her in.
    â€œReady?”
    â€œYou bet.” I followed her out.
    Suzie walked fast, and I increased my pace to keep up.
    â€œI’m going to take you to the Hudson House first. It was built in 1874 and has a museum and an interesting reference library.”
    â€œGreat.” I tightened my chin strap as a gust of wind threatened to dislodge my cowboy hat.
    â€œI love your hat.” Suzie glanced at it.
    â€œThanks. It was a gift from my family. My brothers got the horsehair for the chin strap and the hatband. Grandpa wove the band, and Dad made the stampede string. My sister bought the hat, and Mom put it all together.”
    â€œWow! That’s neat. It’s like they’re all here with you.”
    â€œThat was the idea.” That, and wishing me luck this job would be the one I could hang my hat on.
    Suzie stopped at a white-fenced yard. “I have a few distant cousins in Los Angeles. That’s it.” She pointed to a yellow gingerbread-trimmed home. “This is Hudson House.”
    I stared at