Death Dangles a Participle (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series) by E. E. Kennedy

everybody said. It’s too bad she died on him,” she concluded, rather heartlessly, I thought.
    She observed me retrieving stray crumbs with my pinkie. “Here, you need another piece of toast, at least.”
    I didn’t protest, which wasn’t like me. To tell the truth, for many years, food had been only a peripheral component of my existence, at least the preparation thereof. From the time before my parents died, I had subsisted on light suppers of Campbell’s soup and saltines, and since our marriage I had expanded my repertoire only to include the better brand of microwave dinners and large cans of hearty stew. The second serving of toast smelled even more wonderful than the first, and I fell to consuming it with enthusiasm.
    “I’m glad your worries didn’t spoil your appetite today; does me good to see you enjoy your food. Most days, you’re not much of an eater, that’s for sure.”
    I finished chewing and swallowed. “It’s your cooking, Hester.”
    Hester laughed. “That’s right. I really know how to use a toaster. I get to laughing every time I remember when we first met and I give you my special recipe for apple pie. Shows I didn’t know you too good. I bet a buck you lost it.”
    I finished the last toast crust and restrained myself from licking stray apple butter off the plate. “No, as a matter of fact, I put it in my mother’s old all-purpose cookbook and etiquette guide.” I pointed to a bookshelf tightly-crammed with cookbooks among the cabinets. “But I haven’t found time to try it yet.”
    Hester chuckled. “Probably used it for a bookmark.”
    I drank the last of the milk in guilty silence. The truth was, several months ago I had used it to mark the chapter on weddings.
    The doorknob on the big front door made its familiar clink-jangle, and a chill breeze quickly made its way through the dining room and into the kitchen, dancing around my ankles for what seemed an intolerable length of time.
    “Whoever it is, shut the door!” Hester shouted. “You’re freezin’ us back here!”
    “Sorry,” said a familiar voice and we heard the door close with a thud.
    I took a deep breath and closed my eyes with relief.
    “I’ve often wondered,” Vern remarked as he strolled to the kitchen table, snow clinging to his shoulders and his short haircut, “why don’t you have a storm door like most people?” He brushed off his jacket. “You have a deep enough frame on that door to support one. I looked.”
    “Yeah, while we was turning into blocks of ice,” Hester said with a chuckle. “Y’want something to eat?”
    “No, thanks. But I mean it. You need to tell Etienne.”
    I couldn’t stand it. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Vern, tell us what happened!”
    “What happened? Oh, you mean at the cop shop?” Vern shrugged and worried the tip of his nose with a knuckle. “Nothing, nothing to speak of. Just asked me a few questions.”
    Hester said, “What did I tell ya? It was a fishing expedition, just like I said. Isn’t that right?”
    Vern gave her a blank glance. “I guess so. Look, Amelia, can we get going? It’s starting to snow. I’ve got a paper due next week, and I’ve got to get home to my computer.”
    He stood, arms akimbo, bouncing impatiently on the tips of his size 12 sneakers. I was reminded of a sprinter waiting for the sound of the gun.
    Disappointment was written all over Hester’s face. “Sure you don’t want a little snack, there? You could take it with you, even. I could put a couple cookies in a napkin.”
    “No, thanks,” Vern said, a little too sharply. “Come on, Amelia, shake a leg.” He took my coat off the back of the kitchen chair and draped it clumsily around my shoulders. “Let’s go. Put on your coat.”
    I complied, puzzled and a little concerned. Something was obviously bothering him. I hurried to gather my things, confident that he would enlighten me in the privacy of his car.
    I was to be disappointed. Not only did he not confide his