Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

mean, I remember it from when I was a kid, but it’s been a while. Once we know what’s there, we’ll rent a truck and make the move.” He cleared his throat before adding, “We’d like to be out of here by June first.”
    Ten days. Rent was no doubt due at the first of the new month.
    “I think we can do that. I talked to Retta, and she’s happy to get someone to take on the animals. She’s looking for the previous renters so we can make them take their stuff, but if she can’t locate them, we’ll dispose of it later.”
    “We don’t have that much to bring.”
    I heard tension in Bill’s voice and felt a pang of sadness. He was so smart, so good! He’d just never found the right way to use his talents. I said a little prayer this would be his answer.
    That made me think of my daughter-in-law. “Is Carla okay with this?”
    He chuckled. “I think she’s more excited than I am. She’s filled sheets of paper with diagrams of garden plots.” He lowered his voice. “I’m hoping this will take her mind off the other thing, you know?”
    “I know.” Carla had recently had her third miscarriage in four years. Their childless marriage had begun worrying her, and her worry made Bill sad.
    “Okay,” I said, turning to a happier subject. “I’m going to call Retta right now, and I’ll see you in a few days.”
    “Right. And Mom,” Bill’s voice turned soft. “Thanks so much for this. We’re going to make it work. I promise.”
    “Good.” No one knew if my sons could pull off my crazy scheme, but the fact they were willing to try meant a lot to me.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Barb
    A few minutes after Faye left for the nursing home, I heard the front door open. We operate our agency out of my home, so far with no complaints from the neighbors. The rambling old Victorian had two parlors at the front when I moved in, one formal and the other less so. After we re-varnished the wide, dark woodwork and applied cream-colored paint to the walls, the parlors became our business space.
    I stepped out of my office, the former second parlor, to see who was there. Standing in the reception area was a thirtyish man with dark, curly hair and the kind of face that will never look old. “Good day, ma’am.”
    I stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Barb Evans, half of the agency.”
    His handshake was brief. “Colt Farrell. I think you ladies might be able to help me find some people.” Something in his tone hinted he was favoring our business with his presence, but I smiled, withholding judgment.
    “Come in, Mr. Farrell.” I led him into my office, glancing around to reassure myself it was as I like it. If I’m not vigilant, Retta adds touches to my space that she thinks add style and color. She favors Southwest decor, and early on it was cactus plants and desert paintings. I’d explained to her that while I have nothing against the Southwest, I don’t want it in my stately Victorian home.
    I invited my guest to be seated then asked, “Whom do you want to locate, Mr. Farrell?”
    “Some friends who left the area. I’m hoping you can give me their forwarding address.”
    I folded my hands on the desktop. “Why do you want to locate them?” While clients don’t always tell the truth about their motives, it’s best to ask straight out. We try to avoid cases where the client has spiteful intentions.
    Farrell made a vague gesture. “I thought we were friends. I mean, Ben and me were friends. I knew Rose and the girls, of course, but—”
    The name caught my attention. “You’re speaking of Ben McAdams?”
    “Yes. I understand you own the farm him and his family were renting.” He repeated the gesture, and I thought it signaled frustration. “I didn’t think Ben would move away without letting me know where he was going.”
    “Was there any indication of trouble between the two of them?”
    He shrugged. “Ben thought everything was fine.”
    “What about finances? Did they have money problems?”
    “I