Read Online Murder at the Miramar (Augusta Burnette Series) by Dane McCaslin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dane McCaslin
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food, although I did manage to get some fruit on there as well. With self-righteous satisfaction, I nibbled at pineapple and mango before diving into the eggs and bacon that took up a large portion of my plate. Ah. Now this was the way to begin a day, I told myself. Especially when the day would hold a visit from a certain detective whose mere presence could send me into a dither.
A girl needs her strength, after all.
Chapter Nine
True to his word, Detective Baird sans Fischer appeared in the main lobby of the Miramar at precisely two o’clock. Emmy had departed to parts unknown to take care of resort business, leaving me to fend for myself; even Ellie had done a disappearing act. I steeled my mind; I would not be taken in by his devastating charm once again.
That resolution lasted exactly three seconds. Spotting me across the room, Detective Baird let go with a barrage of dimples, instantly turning my knees to putty and my mind to mush. Apparently that second breakfast had not done its job.
I could see Detective Baird had ditched his usual costume for jeans and a button-down shirt, tucked into a waistband that emphasized his slim build. He looked more like an executive enjoying a day off for golf, or a casual lunch, instead of an officer knee-deep in a murder investigation. In short, he was lookin’ mighty good.
‘Concentrate, AJ, concentrate,’ I muttered to myself, trying hard not to let my eyes wander in places they had no business going. If I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself confessing to the crime just to keep him around for a while.
He joined me at Emmy’s desk. I’d retreated to the business side to keep myself – to keep myself what? Protected? I almost got the giggles as I had a sudden image of me as ‘damsel in distress’, cowering behind the computer tower as a devastatingly handsome rogue that looked vaguely like Detective Baird leaned over me. Hmm. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
‘Good afternoon, Ms Burnette,’ he said easily as he slipped his well-filled jeans into the chair next to the desk. ‘What, no coffee?’
He looked around the room as if a carafe might magically appear, provided he searched hard enough. I did a mini eye roll; I can take a hint. I reached for the phone and ordered a plate of cookies as well as two large coffees. Besides, I told myself, I was going to do that anyway. I was definitely in need of a dose of equilibrium-restoring sugar.
Cookies and coffee delivered, I sat back and waited for him to tell me what he’d come about. Instead, to my consternation, he chatted about the weather (‘Really nice today. Do you sail?’), the Miramar in general (‘These are really good cookies.’), and why I took the job here (‘What does San Blanco have that your hometown doesn’t?’). That last question gave me pause: what did San Blanco have over the place I grew up in? Besides a gorgeous beach, a fabulous job, and him? Exactly nothing. I didn’t share this thought with him, though.
Draining his coffee and brushing the crumbs of his third cookie from his jeans, Detective Baird finally settled into official mode, reaching over to retrieve the clipboard and pen he had laid on the floor beside his chair. My heart rate picked up a bit; I wasn’t certain if it was from the impending questions or the sight of his strongly muscled arms. Either way, I was feeling rattled.
‘So,’ he began, tapping the end of his pen against the paper. ‘What was your day like yesterday? Begin with the earliest thing you can remember and take it from there.’ He looked at me expectantly, and I just stared back. Was he serious?
‘Well, I had breakfast in the Palmetto Room, helped Emmy get Mrs Reilly calmed down –’
‘The mother of the lost girl, I take it?’ he interrupted. I nodded.
‘Then I got my things settled in my room, had lunch there, and went out to help Emmy with a group of scrapbookers who were in town for a convention.’ I paused, looking out the
A girl needs her strength, after all.
Chapter Nine
True to his word, Detective Baird sans Fischer appeared in the main lobby of the Miramar at precisely two o’clock. Emmy had departed to parts unknown to take care of resort business, leaving me to fend for myself; even Ellie had done a disappearing act. I steeled my mind; I would not be taken in by his devastating charm once again.
That resolution lasted exactly three seconds. Spotting me across the room, Detective Baird let go with a barrage of dimples, instantly turning my knees to putty and my mind to mush. Apparently that second breakfast had not done its job.
I could see Detective Baird had ditched his usual costume for jeans and a button-down shirt, tucked into a waistband that emphasized his slim build. He looked more like an executive enjoying a day off for golf, or a casual lunch, instead of an officer knee-deep in a murder investigation. In short, he was lookin’ mighty good.
‘Concentrate, AJ, concentrate,’ I muttered to myself, trying hard not to let my eyes wander in places they had no business going. If I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself confessing to the crime just to keep him around for a while.
He joined me at Emmy’s desk. I’d retreated to the business side to keep myself – to keep myself what? Protected? I almost got the giggles as I had a sudden image of me as ‘damsel in distress’, cowering behind the computer tower as a devastatingly handsome rogue that looked vaguely like Detective Baird leaned over me. Hmm. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
‘Good afternoon, Ms Burnette,’ he said easily as he slipped his well-filled jeans into the chair next to the desk. ‘What, no coffee?’
He looked around the room as if a carafe might magically appear, provided he searched hard enough. I did a mini eye roll; I can take a hint. I reached for the phone and ordered a plate of cookies as well as two large coffees. Besides, I told myself, I was going to do that anyway. I was definitely in need of a dose of equilibrium-restoring sugar.
Cookies and coffee delivered, I sat back and waited for him to tell me what he’d come about. Instead, to my consternation, he chatted about the weather (‘Really nice today. Do you sail?’), the Miramar in general (‘These are really good cookies.’), and why I took the job here (‘What does San Blanco have that your hometown doesn’t?’). That last question gave me pause: what did San Blanco have over the place I grew up in? Besides a gorgeous beach, a fabulous job, and him? Exactly nothing. I didn’t share this thought with him, though.
Draining his coffee and brushing the crumbs of his third cookie from his jeans, Detective Baird finally settled into official mode, reaching over to retrieve the clipboard and pen he had laid on the floor beside his chair. My heart rate picked up a bit; I wasn’t certain if it was from the impending questions or the sight of his strongly muscled arms. Either way, I was feeling rattled.
‘So,’ he began, tapping the end of his pen against the paper. ‘What was your day like yesterday? Begin with the earliest thing you can remember and take it from there.’ He looked at me expectantly, and I just stared back. Was he serious?
‘Well, I had breakfast in the Palmetto Room, helped Emmy get Mrs Reilly calmed down –’
‘The mother of the lost girl, I take it?’ he interrupted. I nodded.
‘Then I got my things settled in my room, had lunch there, and went out to help Emmy with a group of scrapbookers who were in town for a convention.’ I paused, looking out the
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