Murder on the Candlelight Tour by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Page A
Authors: Ellen Elizabeth Hunter
instance--and so they went into the library together to be alone? Something went wrong, and MaeMae killed him.
According to Dr. Banks, the medical examiner, Sheldon's death had been caused by blunt force trauma to his left temple. That meant he'd been facing his killer and the killer was right-handed. Well, that ruled out the lefties, but included a whole lot of other people.
I skimmed through MaeMae's diary, fascinated by her sketches of interiors. She was right. She did possess design talent.
Scanning entries randomly, I perused a litany of slights and offenses committed by Sheldon. Nothing he did pleased her. It was sad to read about all the bickering and mental cruelty they'd inflicted on each other.
I reflected that the murder case was having the unintended consequence of derailing my romance with Nick. I missed him. Our talks. Our walks. Kisses that left me dizzy.
If only we could discuss the case, share our thoughts, trade information. Fox was making money by persuading others--my sister Melanie for one--to invest in his projects. And from what I'd witnessed earlier, possibly Earl Flynn was an investor too. What was the source of Flynn's income, I wondered.
A swank, high-rise hotel located on the outskirts of the historic district would bring in big bucks, but would destroy forever the charming quaintness of the District.
My doorbell rang frantically, as if whoever was out there was leaning against it. Eleven-forty-five. I pulled on my robe, thrust my feet into slippers, and hurried down the stairs to the reception hall, switching on inside and outside lights as I went. I looked out through the sidelight to see Nick.
"I've got to talk to you!" he said when I opened the door. He looked whipped.
Because of the late hour, I feared the worst. "First tell me Melanie hasn't been in an accident."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's not bad news." He stepped inside, his presence filling the space. His eyes traveled over my robe, my nightgown, my slippers. "Were you asleep?"
"Not yet."
There was pain in his eyes, a pinched-quality to his face. Always well dressed, tonight he had on a tailored suit in charcoal brown with a thin white pinstripe. His shirt collar was open at the throat, tie missing.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Yes. I . . . Ashley. . . ."
I don't know who moved first but I was in his arms, wrapped up tight, held like he'd never let me go. I knew I missed him, but not until that moment did I realize how much. I showed him how glad I was to see him.
When we came up for air, he said, "Ashley, I can't stand it when there's trouble between us."
"Neither can I." But remembering I had a duty to save Binkie, I took a step back. "Why are you gunning for Binkie?"
"I'm not gunning for him, Ashley." With one step, he closed the distance I'd put between us. Lifting his hand to my face, he brushed droopy curls off my forehead. "You look pretty without makeup. We need to talk. I have to work this case, but I don't want to lose you over it."
"Oh? And what about Lisa Hamilton? Hasn't she already replaced me?" I hadn't planned to blurt out such an accusation.
His eyes met mine. "Replaced you? Is that what you think?" He reached for me again. "No one can replace you, Ashley. Lisa? Well, that's just work stuff. She's new here and I have to show her around, show her the ropes."
A mental picture of her dangling at the end of one of those ropes was very satisfying.
He continued, "Besides, you and I . . . we . . ."
"We don't have an exclusive relationship," I finished for him.
He kissed the tip of my nose. "Do you want one?"
The question surprised me. "I . . . I don't know." I pulled away and paced, using my hands to help me talk. "Nick, when you're working a case, you become another person, someone I don't know. You treat me like a stranger. You're suspicious of everything I say and do."
He grabbed my shoulders, anchoring me. "Stand still and I'll try to explain. When I'm working the job I've got to
According to Dr. Banks, the medical examiner, Sheldon's death had been caused by blunt force trauma to his left temple. That meant he'd been facing his killer and the killer was right-handed. Well, that ruled out the lefties, but included a whole lot of other people.
I skimmed through MaeMae's diary, fascinated by her sketches of interiors. She was right. She did possess design talent.
Scanning entries randomly, I perused a litany of slights and offenses committed by Sheldon. Nothing he did pleased her. It was sad to read about all the bickering and mental cruelty they'd inflicted on each other.
I reflected that the murder case was having the unintended consequence of derailing my romance with Nick. I missed him. Our talks. Our walks. Kisses that left me dizzy.
If only we could discuss the case, share our thoughts, trade information. Fox was making money by persuading others--my sister Melanie for one--to invest in his projects. And from what I'd witnessed earlier, possibly Earl Flynn was an investor too. What was the source of Flynn's income, I wondered.
A swank, high-rise hotel located on the outskirts of the historic district would bring in big bucks, but would destroy forever the charming quaintness of the District.
My doorbell rang frantically, as if whoever was out there was leaning against it. Eleven-forty-five. I pulled on my robe, thrust my feet into slippers, and hurried down the stairs to the reception hall, switching on inside and outside lights as I went. I looked out through the sidelight to see Nick.
"I've got to talk to you!" he said when I opened the door. He looked whipped.
Because of the late hour, I feared the worst. "First tell me Melanie hasn't been in an accident."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's not bad news." He stepped inside, his presence filling the space. His eyes traveled over my robe, my nightgown, my slippers. "Were you asleep?"
"Not yet."
There was pain in his eyes, a pinched-quality to his face. Always well dressed, tonight he had on a tailored suit in charcoal brown with a thin white pinstripe. His shirt collar was open at the throat, tie missing.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Yes. I . . . Ashley. . . ."
I don't know who moved first but I was in his arms, wrapped up tight, held like he'd never let me go. I knew I missed him, but not until that moment did I realize how much. I showed him how glad I was to see him.
When we came up for air, he said, "Ashley, I can't stand it when there's trouble between us."
"Neither can I." But remembering I had a duty to save Binkie, I took a step back. "Why are you gunning for Binkie?"
"I'm not gunning for him, Ashley." With one step, he closed the distance I'd put between us. Lifting his hand to my face, he brushed droopy curls off my forehead. "You look pretty without makeup. We need to talk. I have to work this case, but I don't want to lose you over it."
"Oh? And what about Lisa Hamilton? Hasn't she already replaced me?" I hadn't planned to blurt out such an accusation.
His eyes met mine. "Replaced you? Is that what you think?" He reached for me again. "No one can replace you, Ashley. Lisa? Well, that's just work stuff. She's new here and I have to show her around, show her the ropes."
A mental picture of her dangling at the end of one of those ropes was very satisfying.
He continued, "Besides, you and I . . . we . . ."
"We don't have an exclusive relationship," I finished for him.
He kissed the tip of my nose. "Do you want one?"
The question surprised me. "I . . . I don't know." I pulled away and paced, using my hands to help me talk. "Nick, when you're working a case, you become another person, someone I don't know. You treat me like a stranger. You're suspicious of everything I say and do."
He grabbed my shoulders, anchoring me. "Stand still and I'll try to explain. When I'm working the job I've got to