Death Runs Adrift (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

said. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. Such a tragedy.”
    “Yes,” Murray said, shaking his head. “Terrible thing.”
    “Well, I’m going to head inside and change. Thanks for a lovely afternoon, Murray.” She smiled at Murray, then swept by us in a cloud of tuberose perfume and disappeared into the inn.
    “We should be going too,” I added as Murray stared after the door through which she’d disappeared, then slowly turned back to his Jag. “Have a good evening.”
    “Oh.” Murray turned to us as if he’d forgotten we were there. “John, I had no idea your mother was such a charmer. Where have you been hiding her?”
    “Boston. She always hated it here,” my fiancé volunteered.
    “Well, she doesn’t seem to now. I’m glad you brought her up here to visit. She’s a corker!” With that, he got back into his car like a man in a dream, and John and I watched as his car disappeared up the hill.
    “A corker,” John repeated. “I’ve heard many words used to describe my mother, but that is not one of them.”
    I grinned. “Nice of you to let him know how much she enjoys the island.” As we climbed into the van, I found myself shaking my head. “He’s really smitten, isn’t he? I’ve never seen him look like that before.”
    “Murray Selfridge,” John said quietly as we backed out of the driveway and followed him up the lane. “I can’t imagine anyone would find him attractive, much less my mother.”
    “He … well, he seems nice enough.” I remembered his take-no-prisoners approach to development on the island and revised my statement. “To Catherine, at least.”
    “For the moment,” John said. “You and I both know what he’s like, though.”
    “Not your favorite person, eh?” Detective Johnson said from the back seat of the van.
    “You can say that again,” John replied.
    “Your mother seems to have him well in hand,” I pointed out. “It must be fun, going out to lunch at Jordan Pond House and having someone invite you to dinner on his yacht.”
    John shook his head. “I don’t trust him.”
    “She’s a grown woman,” I reminded him. “And it’s not like they’re planning to be married, or anything.”
    “I certainly hope not,” John said darkly.
    _____
    It took almost no time at all, it seemed, to get to the store, which was commonly known as Cranberry Island’s living room. The small wooden building had a broad front porch and big, wavy-glass windows posted with local notices; inside, I knew, were worn couches and armchairs where locals sat and caught up on the news, along with grocery aisles packed with essentials and a bank of post office boxes into which my best friend sorted the mail each day—taking special note of the postcards and the return addresses of handwritten envelopes, I knew. I often supplied the store with extra baked goods from the inn; they always disappeared quickly, and not just because of the day-trippers who wandered into the store looking for a snack.
    As we walked up the steps to the front porch, I could see through the mullioned windows that Tania was at the counter of the cozy island store, her young face pale and wan. She wore a black miniskirt that covered approximately 5 percent of her long legs, and a sparkly pink camisole clung to her bony chest. Her aunt Charlene sat across the counter from her with a worried expression on her beautiful, impeccably made-up face.
    Unfortunately, they weren’t alone; Charlene’s most ardent admirer, Fred Penney, was parked at his habitual spot at the counter. Although my friend had told him repeatedly that she wasn’t interested, he appeared to favor the Chinese water torture approach to courting. He’d tried to give her a pair of tourmaline earrings the previous week, and seemed to spend more time in the store than on his lobster boat.
    Charlene looked up as the bell above the door jangled, announcing our arrival. Our faces told her everything she needed to know. My