Éclair and Present Danger by Laura Bradford Page B

down on the ground at her feet and slowly walked toward Renee and Lovey. The closer she got, the narrower the cat’s eyes became. Two feetfrom her intended destination, she stopped. “Do you think this cat is
ever
going to like me? I mean, she was left to
me
, you know . . .”
    â€œIt’s probably just a reaction to your stress. Cats can sense stuff like that, I think.” Renee clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth and smiled down at Lovey. “The day you got her, you closed down the bakery
and
found a dead body. That’s not the kind of stress a person can hide real well.”
    â€œYou’re stressed about Bob and not seeing Ty this week . . .”
    â€œOkay, but—”
    She held up her hand and continued. “And Mr. Nelson and Bridget are both stressed beyond belief about Bart’s death . . .”
    â€œYeah, but—”
    â€œSo your stress theory doesn’t hold up, Renee.”
    â€œThen I’ve got nothing.” Shrugging, Renee lowered herself to the ground and repositioned the cat against her legs instead of her arms. Once she was sure Lovey was going to stay, she pointed to the house across the street. “So what’s going on over there, anyway?”
    Winnie retraced her steps back to the tree and leaned against its trunk. “We have no idea. Since the crime scene tape came down yesterday morning, we haven’t seen any more police.”
    â€œNo suspects?”
    â€œI can’t speak for the Silver Lake PD, but Mr. Nelson and Bridget and I have come up with two.”
    A flash of movement at Mr. Nelson’s front window let her know that the weather report was over and that her neighbor was trying to determine whether it was worth venturing outside again. The fact that Renee’s chosen patch of ground was outside of the man’s visual path had Winnie guessing Mr. Nelson would remain inside.
    â€œDid one of you see something?” Renee asked.
    She smiled and waved at the elderly man. “I saw something
after
the fact that gave us the first suspect, and Mr. Nelson saw something that gave us the second.”
    â€œCare to share?”
    â€œYesterday, while I was at the station talking to Greg, I saw a flyer on a bulletin board listing Bart’s house for sale. When I asked how it got there, one of Greg’s coworkers said it came from Bart’s stepson, Mark Reilly.”
    Renee made a face first at Winnie and then at Lovey as the cat abandoned her cuddle spot in favor of smelling her way around the ambulance and the assorted car-washing paraphernalia scattered across the ground. “I admit the timing is pathetic, but maybe the guy can’t afford the mortgage on the house now that his stepfather is dead.”
    She watched Lovey lick a bead of water off the outside of the garden hose and then continue on, stopping only to stalk a butterfly and a falling leaf before contemplating a dash across the street. “Lovey, stay over here,” she cautioned. Surprisingly, the cat lowered herself to the grass, swished her tail from side to side, and remained on their side of the road.
    Looking back at Renee, she continued. “But here’s the thing. Mark was copying these flyers hours before I found his stepfather’s body.”
    â€œMaybe Bart agreed to the sale.”
    It was a wrinkle she hadn’t considered.
    Now that she did, though, she couldn’t help but wonder if Renee was right. Bart had grown increasingly more depressed since the death of his beloved Ethel. Even Winnie’s peach pie deliveries couldn’t keep a smile on his face for more than a few minutes. Maybe the memories of a life shared in that house had become too painful . . .
    â€œI guess I hadn’t thought of that possibility,” she finally admitted. “I suppose you could be right.”
    â€œMaybe. Maybe not—oh, there she goes!”
    Winnie pushed off the