Bed & Breakfast Bedlam (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

Shaking his hand. It was like a movie star
had just graced their presence.
    “Bay Colquett.” Loverboy Oliver Gibbons
joined the chorus. “It’s good to see you,” he said shaking his hand
    Not for me. I had hoped to never see this
man again.
    I dug in my satchel and pulled out the business
card he’d given me.
    Bay Colquett.
    Sure enough that’s what was written on the
front of it. He never told me his name. Just announced “FBI” and pushed his
stupid badge in my face. And when he was finished interrogating me, he gave me
the card and instead of looking at it, I just shoved it down in my purse.
    I should have read it.
    Because if I had, as soon as Renmar told
me her last name, whether I thought they were related or not, I would have
turned and bolted for the door. Down the steps two at a time.
    I took my phone out of the fruit bowl and
dried it best I could and wrapped it in one of the cloth napkins.
    I had to get out without him seeing me.
    I put my knapsack over my head and
adjusted it on my shoulder. I slid out of the chair and looked over to the door
that led to the kitchen. Only about twenty-five feet . . . If I could just get
across the dining room without too much noise . . . I just might make it through
the kitchen and out the back door without him seeing me.
    I crept across the room, berating myself
for sitting so far to the front of it. I kept a watchful eye on the crowd
surrounding the FBI guy.
    That’s right everyone, keep him occupied.
    Only a few more steps, I turned my head
and looked at the door. Just a couple -
    “Dr. Dickerson.”
    I knew that voice.
    Crap.
    I turned and looked out to the foyer where
everyone was now looking at me.
    And there he was with that stupid smirk.
    “I thought that was your car outside,” he
said. “I see you made it. Get much excavating done yet?”
    I should have not worried about covering
up my lies and gone home to my mother.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Friday
Afternoon
    It didn’t smell like the mouthwatering pastry
that I had smelled the first evening I’d set foot in the Maypop Bed & Breakfast.
It smelled fishy even before I got in the door. People were milling around
outside, whispering among themselves and watching the house.
    I had spent the morning getting a new
phone. Renmar’s juicy secret recipe didn’t go well with the wiring of an iPhone
6.
    I had planned on spending the morning on
the Island but that FBI guy – Bay Colquett – showing up had gotten me so
flustered. I drove out to Augusta, because of course there was no mobile phone
store in Yasamee. On my way back I stopped at the Stallings Inn. It was, I
found, the only other sleeping accommodation in the town. It was quiet and
empty. My mother was working on people to get me approved to do some work on
the Island and I couldn’t just leave now that she’d got other people involved –
my phony cover-up story was causing more trouble than I bargained for. But,
until I heard back from my mother, I decided that I was moving out of the
Maypop Bed & Breakfast. And away from Bay Colquett.
    But once I got inside, everything changed.
And things looked even fishier than they did from the outside.
    The place was overflowing with people. The
Sheriff was shouting at people, Renmar was crying, eyes red and puffy, and the
lady I remembered as Hazel Cobb was trying to comfort her. It was bedlam. And
then I spotted, Vivienne, sitting quietly there in midst of it.
    Miss Vivee sat on the light beige, tufted
armed bench in the corner of the foyer. She had on a sun hat and sunglasses, a thin
powder blue coat, with a large rounded collar, and knee high rubber boots. Her dog
sat on her lap.
    She pulled her sunglasses down on her nose
and beckoned me with her finger. She mouthed “Come here,” then patted the seat
next to her.
    I snaked my way through the crowd and sat
where she had directed. “What happened?” I asked.
    “Gemma Burke died, face down, in her bowl
of