proximity. He couldn’t quit looking at her mouth, no matter how often he reminded himself to maintain eye contact.
‘I have got to get hold of myself,’ he thought. ‘I’m acting like a love-starved teenager.’
“So who killed him?” Maggie asked when he was finished talking.
“Too early to tell,” Scott replied, noting the oversized blue oxford shirt she was wearing was gapping in the front just below her bust, giving him a peek at the pale pink lace bra she was wearing underneath.
“It will be harder to find someone who didn’t want him dead,” she said.
“Including you?” Scott asked her teasingly, admiring the rosy color in her cheeks and the freckles sprinkled over her nose.
“He burned my house down because I wouldn’t sell it to him,” she said. “He as much as bragged about it afterward in the Thorn.”
“There was no proof, though,” Scott said, noticing a long red curl escaping from Maggie’s ponytail, and resisting the urge to wrap it around his finger. “The fire chief said it was the wiring.”
“There was something fishy about that,” Maggie said. “You know as well as I do there was nothing wrong with the wiring. I had all of it brought up to code after I bought the place.”
“Chief Estep was an honest man,” Scott said, conscious of the smell of her hair and skin now he was close enough to discern them. Her perfume was delicate and floral. “I find it hard to believe he could be bribed. He hated Theo with a passion.”
“Too bad he’s dead,” Maggie said, “or you’d have another good suspect.”
“Mmm,” Scott said, wondering what color panties Maggie was wearing, and imagining something lacy to match her bra.
“What’s wrong with you?’ Maggie asked him, in an irritated tone. “Are you drunk or something?”
“I think I might be,” Scott said, with a grin.
“Then go home and sleep it off,” she told him crossly, and reluctantly he did as she suggested.
Chapter Four – Monday
When Scott checked in at the station at eight a.m., he had a message from Sarah, sounding irritated he wasn’t in yet. She wanted him to pick up Theo’s mail from the post office and arrange for it to be held. She also mentioned she would be in Rose Hill later and wanted to go over some to-do lists with him.
Scott sighed. It was bad enough he couldn’t be in charge of investigating a murder on his own patch, but he hated having Sarah boss him around as well. He wanted to check on Ed, follow up on the whereabouts of Willy, and talk to everyone who might have seen or talked to Theo on his last day alive, but instead he dutifully headed toward the post office.
Scott walked down Rose Hill Avenue to the small post office, which was across the street from Maggie’s bookstore. When he entered, he could see postmistress Margie Estep was attempting to help Mamie Rodefeffer–a cranky, wealthy senior citizen–buy some stamps. He almost backed out again, but Mamie turned and regarded him through thick lenses.
“Ah good, the police,” she said, and waved her cane in Margie’s direction. “You can arrest this woman for highway robbery.”
Margie said, “The price of stamps went up, Mamie. I can’t help it.”
Scott went around the dividing wall and pretended to look at notices posted on the bulletin board opposite the post office boxes, while he listened to Margie and the richest woman in town bicker over less than two dollars’ worth of stamps.
“And I know you’ve been taking my National Geographic magazines,” Mamie accused Margie as she left.
Scott smiled in sympathy at Margie, whose small round face was bright pink with irritation. Margie Estep was a short pudgy woman in her late forties, with a graying brown Dutch-boy haircut and a plain face made all the more unbecoming by dated looking large-framed glasses. Her wool cardigan was sprinkled heavily with dandruff, and her round collared blouse was buttoned up to the very top. She had never married,
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