shock, that was hardly surprising. Not a problem. I subscribed to the more the merrier philosophy and was pleased to host a full house.
“I’ll freshen up and fix breakfast,” I told Pruett.
“You look plenty fresh right now,” he teased. “Flannel always turns me on.”
In the dark, I had grabbed Pip’s old robe by mistake. There was nothing Freudian about that gesture. Pip and everything about him still comforted me like nothing else ever could. He was and always would be a vital part of my life. Pruett knew and respected that. I think.
“It won’t take long,” I said. “Natural beauty, you know.”
He ignored my joke and turned serious. “Right you are. ‘She walks in beauty, like the night…’ Lord Byron might have been describing you, my love.”
We locked eyes, and for a moment I considered leaping into his arms. The sudden appearance of Magdalen Melmoth saved me from perdition. She had apparently pressed her clothing from yesterday and applied a touch of lipstick. The term “fresh as a daisy” fit perfectly.
“Pardon me, children,” she said. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Pruett and I both assured her that she was not. “Just give me a few minutes. I’ll get dressed and make breakfast,” I said. For some unknown reason I felt guilty, as if I were a child caught in an indiscretion. I sped upstairs and did my best to revive myself. The results pleased me, although I fell far below Byron’s illusion of romance.
I emerged, tempted by the scent of eggs, bacon, and pancakes courtesy of that dazzling duo, Melmoth and Pruett. Apparently, a hint of the feast had wafted up to the guest room as well. Babette was busily setting the dining room table with my best china and a few added touches from the back garden.
She reached greedily for espresso, stifling a yawn as she did so. “Well, missy,” she said, “about time you put in an appearance. Now we can finally eat. I’m starvin’.” My pal was a woman with many appetites, all of them lusty. I couldn’t argue with the sentiment, though. Death and danger made me ravenously hungry too. Strange as it seemed, there was something life affirming about a plate filled with scrambled eggs.
“I’ll drive Magdalen into the city,” Pruett said. “That way she can meet Micah and get comfortable. Pick her up afterward at my place if you want.”
Magdalen removed her apron and dried her hands. “Nonsense. You’re not running a taxi service for me. Perri has a business to maintain. I’ll just call an Uber.”
Once again, Magdalen gobsmacked all three of us. Who would have expected the Uber phenomenon to penetrate all the way to the Falls?
“Are you sure?”
“I insist,” Magdalen said quite firmly. The issue was closed as far as she was concerned.
Fortunately, Babette proposed an alternative. “Well, I don’t run any business, and it’s no big deal to drive into Georgetown. Besides, Magdalen and I can have lunch afterward. It’ll be fun!”
Magdalen was either too kind or too polite to disappoint Babette. She agreed, and after breakfast the trio made their exit. When he kissed me goodbye, Pruett whispered that he would notify the sheriff about Magdalen’s whereabouts. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything will be fine.”
Famous last words.
Chapter 8
After neglecting my business for several days, I finally paid the piper. A stack of invoices awaited me, and several customers inquired about pending orders they had yet to receive. No sole proprietor can afford such lapses if she expects to remain solvent. It was crunch time, nose to the grindstone at Creature Comforts. My absorption with leads, collars, and belts caused me to forget Magdalen Melmoth and her problems for a few hours at least. When Pruett called, I realized it was almost five p.m.
“Hey, leather lady,” he said. “Got some time for an update?”
Hearing his sultry tones warmed my soul. “For you, sure. I always have time.”
“Glad to hear it.” Pruett provided a concise summary of Magdalen’s conference with Micah Briggs, minus any specific details that might compromise her privacy.
“I bet she liked him,” I said. Most women did. Micah was a fortyish, sturdy fireplug of a man with curly red hair and twinkling blue eyes that radiated compassion. Sort of a modern-day Perry Mason crossed with Paul Bunyan.
Pruett chuckled. “I can’t say for certain, but Babette sure took a shine to him. It was hard prying her out of his office while he conferred with Magdalen.”
That sounded true to form. My ebullient pal developed instant crushes on any available male, and a few who were already spoken for. If I recalled correctly, Micah was a bachelor, so the field was clear for an all-out Croy assault. Suddenly I sensed a hesitation in Pruett’s voice, one that concerned me.
“Anything go wrong?” I asked.
He sighed. “Not wrong exactly. Micah called Babette and me back into his office to witness Magdalen’s will. Naturally we couldn’t see the provisions, but I did glimpse your name.”
I forced myself to take a deep breath. No sense in panicking or imagining things. “Okay.”
“Wait ’til she tells you herself. She and Babette should be back soon. By the way, I spoke with Aleita and she needs to take a statement from Magdalen. No big deal and no lab findings yet on those chocolates. Autopsy results on Nurse Ross should be finalized tomorrow.”
I wanted to ask where he would stay that evening, but pride and a sense of restraint ruled the day. Like many of us, Pruett needed his space. Besides, with daughter Ella on a European jaunt with her mother, his residence was empty. I closed my eyes, picturing a bacchanalia at the elegant Chez Pruett in Georgetown.
“Perri—you still there?”
“Sure.”
“Call me after you speak with Magdalen. I have things to do here, but I already miss you like crazy. You’ve gotten under my skin, lady.”
To stave off awkwardness, I resorted to flippancy. “They have medication to cure that, you know.”
Pruett had his own brand of medicine. “Nope. I’m a hopeless case. Terminal. Head over heels.” He blew a kiss into the receiver.
As I hung up, a tingling caused me to shiver. Talk about your hopeless cases!
Chapter 9
Babette, Clara, and Magdalen clambered into the house soon after that. All three women clutched bulging shopping bags from Babette’s mother ship—Neiman Marcus.
“Shopping?” I asked. “Sounds like trouble.”
“Mags needed a bunch of supplies,” Babette said, “so we had to stock up. It was fun. A spot of retail therapy works wonders.”
I had limited experience with that, and frankly I found shopping tedious. Still, I tried always to be a good sport.
