A Veiled Antiquity (Torie O'Shea Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

better look at the car. Standing up, I tried to flatten my body against the living-room wall to look out. I barely moved the dotted swiss curtains. It was nearly dusk now, and all I could make out was that the car was not huge, but it wasn’t compact either, and that it was a dark color. Well, that ought to cover at least half of the cars in New Kassel.
    Then I saw the back of the man’s head as he walked underneath the window. Somehow, I got the weirdest feeling that he knew I was in the house.
    It all seemed to fit perfectly then. Marie Dijon had been asleep the night she died. She heard a knock at the door, which would account for why there was no forced entry. She brushed her hair, left the brush on the bed, put on house slippers and a housecoat. Whoever she let in, she knew fairly well. She got out the milk and two glasses, but never got to pour the milk.
    Why would she go to the basement steps? That made no sense.
    Finally, the man outside the window got back in the car and left. I ran full speed into the kitchen, stepped on something in the hallway that threw off my balance, and my stomach and ribs met the floor with a thud.
    “Ugh,” was all I managed.
    I got up slowly and cautiously, and went to the kitchen table. I grabbed the envelope that I had brought with me off of the kitchen table. It only took me a second to talk myself into my next move. I reached down and tore off the envelope that was taped underneath her table, it making a shwishk sound in the process.
    “Girls, let’s go!” I shouted. I met them at the living-room entryway, and then we were out the door with both envelopes in two seconds and home in five minutes.

NEW KASSEL GAZETTE
    T HE N EWS Y OU M IGHT M ISS
    by Eleanore Murdoch
    It’s apple pickin’ time! Volunteers are needed up at the orchard this year more than ever since Wilma Pershing’s apple butter has become famous. She received a fan letter from a U.S. senator on her wonderful apple butter, stating that it was actually better than his mother’s. This year’s contest is for the best apple dumpling recipe.
    And thank you to everybody who wrote in praise of my new society column that made its debut a few months ago. New Kassel readers say they feel more informed than ever about life in their town. I’m just glad to be able to bring it to you.
    We’re taking up a collection to buy Tobias a new accordion. Donations can be made at Fraulein Krista’s.
    Until next time.
    Eleanore

Four
    Cautious is not a word I would use to describe myself, unless it deals with my children or germs. Then I’m usually overly cautious to the point of complete paranoia. But in my endeavors that don’t include the girls or communicable bacteria, I tend to jump in with both feet before I’ve thought anything through. I usually end up in hot water up to my neck.
    The envelope that I had so illegally obtained from Marie Dijon’s house contained a key. It also contained some documents that were very old and very French. The next day, I took my French/English dictionary and went down to Fräulein Krista’s restaurant to try to decipher them and stuff my face with raspberry turnovers in the process. Work is the ideal excuse to eat.
    Fräulein Krista’s Speisehaus is one of my favorite places to eat. It is directly across the street from the Gaheimer House, with the Christmas Shop on one side and the rectory of Santa Lucia on the other. The waiters wear green velvet knickers and the waitresses green velvet dresses, resembling adult Hansels and Gretels. The place reminded me of an inn deep in the Bavarian Alps.
    Two hours later I had a headache the size of Montana, not to mention a guilty conscience, and only a few words here and there that made any sense. I decided that I needed a French translator.
    Camille Lombarde was such a person. She lived up in St. Louis, and I decided that I would go to see her one day this week.
    “You look as though you are halfway around the world,” a voice said to me. I