Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

obviously killed by some vagrant who robbed him of everything of value. We found a name on a label inside his coat.” Kevin’s eyes were full of concern when he looked at Cecily. “The name is G. Evans.”
    Cecily’s neck began to tingle. “We have a guest of that name. I saw him just this morning leaving the dining room after breakfast.”
    Kevin took a step forward. “Can you describe him?”
    “Yes, I think so. Light brown hair, rather tall and thin. Oh, and he had a scar on his chin in the shape of a V. I remember wondering if he was hurt as a child.”
    Kevin exchanged a glance with the constable. “I’m sorry, Cecily. It appears the dead man was your guest.”
    “We surmised as much,” Northcott said, “when we found a receipt for a bottle of scotch from your bar.”
    He might well have said that in the beginning, Cecily thought, struggling to remain calm. “I see. I’m so sorry. Was there any indication of how he died?”
    “He was stabbed, m’m,” Northcott announced with relish, putting any hope of an accident out of Cecily’s mind. “Right in the heart. Whoever did it knew what he was doing.”
    Phoebe uttered a soft moan and clutched her throat.
    Afraid the woman was about to faint again, Cecily forgot her own anxiety and helped her friend onto a chair.
    Oblivious to Phoebe’s distress, the constable blithely continued. “The killer must have shoved the poor blighter in the ocean hoping he’d go out to sea. Must not have realized the tide was coming in, not going out.” Northcott shook his head. “They always slip up somehow, sooner or later.”
    Kevin shot the policeman a dark look. “Mr. Evans hadn’t been in the water all that long. He was probably killed somewhere close by. I’d say the killer used a hunting knife. The victim was stabbed three times, once through the heart. We’re going to need any paperwork you have concerning this man, Cecily, so that we may find out where he lives and inform his next of kin.”
    Cecily decided she needed to sit down as well. “There isn’t any paperwork to speak of, I’m afraid. According to my reception manager, Mr. Gerald Evans walked into the Pennyfoot and asked for a room. He said he wasn’t satisfied with the hotel he was staying at and was looking for somewhere else to stay. Luckily we’d had a cancellation so we were able to accommodate him. He signed the guest book, but I don’t know if he wrote down his full address. You are welcome to take a look, of course.”
    Northcott cleared his throat and dragged a crumpled notebook out of his uniform pocket. From the other pocket he produced a well-worn pencil. After giving the end of it a quick lick, he started to scribble down words on the pad.
    “Nah then, Mrs. B.,” he said, peering down at Cecily, “just to set matters straight, I have to ask the following questions. Did the deceased have any communication with anyone else here in the hotel?”
    “Country club,” Cecily murmured. Baxter was always correcting her when she called the Pennyfoot a hotel, a habit that she found totally unnecessary and somewhat annoying. It was even more irritating to find herself doing the same thing.
    Before she could say anything else, Northcott said a little testily, “This h’establishment, then.”
    “Quite.” She sighed. “No, Sam. As far as I know, the gentleman was here alone. He was alone when he arrived two days ago and he dined alone. I didn’t see him speak to anyone else. Then again, I have no way of knowing what he did when he was out of sight. Except . . .” She paused, wondering if what she was about to say next would be significant.
    The constable cleared his throat. “Except what?”
    “I do know Mr. Evans was fond of walking on the beach. I noticed more than once that he left a trail of sand when he walked across the lobby. I was going to have a word with him about it, but I never got around to it.”
    “So the killer probably followed him on the beach and waited for a