Read Online Murder With Puffins by Donna Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Andrews
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous stories, Islands, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Maine, Mystery Fiction, Women Detectives, Murder, Langslow; Meg (Fictitious character), Women detectives - Maine, Hurricanes
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the corner of the building to avoid Resnick. When we peeked out a minute or two later, both he and the Asian man with the necktie had disappeared.
After that brief flurry of excitement, we resumed our shopping quest and finally ended up down by the ferry dock in the only gift shop still open--probably because it doubled as the island-side office for the ferries.
We flung open the shop door, shook ourselves like large dogs, and said good morning to the shopkeeper and her one other customer. The shopkeeper was a stout sixtyish woman, sensibly dressed in boots, jeans, and several layers of sweaters. I couldn't remember her name--probably a subconscious form of revenge, since during my last visit to Monhegan I'd tried, without success, to get her to sell my ironwork in her shop.
The other occupant was a rather odd-looking woman in her forties, dressed in a peculiar multilayered medley of black, purple, and violet, topped with a limp lavender-trimmed straw hat. Not one of the birders, obviously; probably an artist or craftswoman.
"My God," Michael said, looking round. "Is the puffin the state bird here or something?"
He had a point; the shop was a puffin lover's paradise. Puffin posters, puffin T-shirts, puffin sweatshirts, puffin key chains, and so many stuffed toy puffins of all sizes that the place looked like Santa's workshop on December 23.
"We're very proud of our puffins," said the shopkeeper. "Maine is the only state in the union that actually has nesting puffins."
"Yes, so Meg's aunt Phoebe has told us," Michael said, breaking in to stem the tide of puffin lore.
"Oh, you're Meg?" the shopkeeper said. "I didn't recognize you; it's such a long time since you've been here. Your father's told us about all your detective adventures this summer."
I winced. I should have known that my mystery-buff dad couldn't spend five minutes anywhere without bragging about his daughter, who had actually solved a real live murder. Listening to Dad, you'd think any minute I'd quit my career as a smith and open up a detective agency.
"You know, we never did finish those arrangements for selling some of your ironwork here in the shop," the woman went on.
I snapped to attention. A more accurate statement would be that I'd never convinced her my occasional summers on the island constituted enough of a local tie to warrant my inclusion in the "Crafts of Monhegan" section of the shop. But if my past summer's adventures had made me notorious enough to interest her, thus opening up a profitable new market--well, I wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.
In minutes, the shopkeeper and I were deep in discussions of the quantity and type of merchandise she thought she could use and whether she would buy them outright or take them on consignment Michael wandered off to inspect the puffin paraphernalia, and after a few minutes, the woman in lavender picked up her purse.
"Bye, Mamie" she whispered, and slipped out of the store.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to drive a customer away."
"Oh, she's not a customer," Mamie said. "That's one of our other island celebrities. That's Rhapsody." From the tone of voice, I suspected Rhapsody was one of those people who strenuously resisted admitting that they owned a last name. And that she was somebody I ought to have heard of.
"Rhapsody?" I said.
"You know, she does the children's books. They call her the 'Puffin Lady of Monhegan.'"
"Oh, the Happy Puffin Family," I said.
"That's right," she said, beaming.
I hadn't actually heard of the Happy Puffin Family before, but though my detective skills are overrated, they were sufficient to let me spot the giant display of Happy Puffin Family books right beside the cash register.
"I keep meaning to read one of her books," I said. "I'm sure my sister, Pam, has some around the house for her kids, but I never find the time when I'm home."
"Oh, they're wonderful!" Mamie exclaimed.
While Michael continued to inspect puffin tea towels and
After that brief flurry of excitement, we resumed our shopping quest and finally ended up down by the ferry dock in the only gift shop still open--probably because it doubled as the island-side office for the ferries.
We flung open the shop door, shook ourselves like large dogs, and said good morning to the shopkeeper and her one other customer. The shopkeeper was a stout sixtyish woman, sensibly dressed in boots, jeans, and several layers of sweaters. I couldn't remember her name--probably a subconscious form of revenge, since during my last visit to Monhegan I'd tried, without success, to get her to sell my ironwork in her shop.
The other occupant was a rather odd-looking woman in her forties, dressed in a peculiar multilayered medley of black, purple, and violet, topped with a limp lavender-trimmed straw hat. Not one of the birders, obviously; probably an artist or craftswoman.
"My God," Michael said, looking round. "Is the puffin the state bird here or something?"
He had a point; the shop was a puffin lover's paradise. Puffin posters, puffin T-shirts, puffin sweatshirts, puffin key chains, and so many stuffed toy puffins of all sizes that the place looked like Santa's workshop on December 23.
"We're very proud of our puffins," said the shopkeeper. "Maine is the only state in the union that actually has nesting puffins."
"Yes, so Meg's aunt Phoebe has told us," Michael said, breaking in to stem the tide of puffin lore.
"Oh, you're Meg?" the shopkeeper said. "I didn't recognize you; it's such a long time since you've been here. Your father's told us about all your detective adventures this summer."
I winced. I should have known that my mystery-buff dad couldn't spend five minutes anywhere without bragging about his daughter, who had actually solved a real live murder. Listening to Dad, you'd think any minute I'd quit my career as a smith and open up a detective agency.
"You know, we never did finish those arrangements for selling some of your ironwork here in the shop," the woman went on.
I snapped to attention. A more accurate statement would be that I'd never convinced her my occasional summers on the island constituted enough of a local tie to warrant my inclusion in the "Crafts of Monhegan" section of the shop. But if my past summer's adventures had made me notorious enough to interest her, thus opening up a profitable new market--well, I wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.
In minutes, the shopkeeper and I were deep in discussions of the quantity and type of merchandise she thought she could use and whether she would buy them outright or take them on consignment Michael wandered off to inspect the puffin paraphernalia, and after a few minutes, the woman in lavender picked up her purse.
"Bye, Mamie" she whispered, and slipped out of the store.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to drive a customer away."
"Oh, she's not a customer," Mamie said. "That's one of our other island celebrities. That's Rhapsody." From the tone of voice, I suspected Rhapsody was one of those people who strenuously resisted admitting that they owned a last name. And that she was somebody I ought to have heard of.
"Rhapsody?" I said.
"You know, she does the children's books. They call her the 'Puffin Lady of Monhegan.'"
"Oh, the Happy Puffin Family," I said.
"That's right," she said, beaming.
I hadn't actually heard of the Happy Puffin Family before, but though my detective skills are overrated, they were sufficient to let me spot the giant display of Happy Puffin Family books right beside the cash register.
"I keep meaning to read one of her books," I said. "I'm sure my sister, Pam, has some around the house for her kids, but I never find the time when I'm home."
"Oh, they're wonderful!" Mamie exclaimed.
While Michael continued to inspect puffin tea towels and
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