Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

pointed at a spot on the shore below us. On the lake side of the house, rough log steps led down to the water. Set into the hillside and leveled with dirt, they made a cheap and effective means of descent. Now, however, there was a splash of bright orange near the bottom step that didn’t belong on the green lawn. Craning my neck to see better, I made out a pair of jeans, gray sneakers, and a shock of white hair.
    Retta was out of the car first, hurrying down the slope at an intersecting angle. Her high-heeled boots sank into the soft ground with every step, but she staggered on.
    I followed, fumbling for my phone as I ran. When I reached her, Retta was checking the prone man’s neck for a pulse.
    “Is he—?”
    “Dead,” she finished. “The poor old guy must have tripped on those steps and broken his neck.”

Chapter Five
Faye
    Dale and I were the last to reach Mr. Marsh’s body. We went up the driveway, around the house, and came carefully down the steps the owner hadn’t been able to navigate. I held Dale’s arm, which was necessary though embarrassing for him. He did well enough on even ground, but vertigo kicked in when the way wasn’t flat, and he needed me to lean on. Despite being his anchor, I was the one who was huffing and puffing by the time we got there.
    Barb had called 9-1-1. Stiffness of the limbs indicated Mr. Marsh had been dead for some time, but Retta stroked the man’s wrinkled face as if he could feel it. “I’m sorry,” she told the corpse. “It’s a terrible way to die.”
    Shocked as I was, my mind argued the point. In this beautiful setting, at this gorgeous time of year, on his own property, at eighty-whatever, it seemed to me Caleb Marsh’s quick death, with perhaps only a moment of realizing his time had come, wasn’t a bad way to go.
    But then, I’m weird that way.
    In just over twenty minutes, we were joined by an ambulance and a sheriff’s car. The deputy, one we knew from cases we’d worked on, took our statements and told us they’d be in touch if they needed anything else.
    “Bad thing,” he said soberly. “The logs on these rustic stairways get mossy, which makes them slippery.”
    We drove home, shaken as one is by the reminder that death can sneak up on a person. Each of us was probably more appreciative of the beauty of nature—and of each other—as we left Sweet Springs, aware how quickly the wonderful gifts life offers can be snatched away.

Chapter Six
Retta
    When we got back to Barb’s house—I always think of it that way though it’s also where Faye and Dale live and the offices of the Smart Detective Agency—I got into my car and started for home. With the tragic end to our outing, I’d almost forgotten about Clara’s chickens, but as I passed the So-Rite Real Estate office, my promise to Faye came to mind. I felt a little silly fussing about poultry, but she was sure to call later and ask what I’d found out. Faye’s the sweetest person ever, but don’t get between her and animals in trouble.
    Inside the office, two desks faced each other on opposite sides of the room, a woman at each one. Farther back a private office sat empty, the desk so neat it looked unused. The place smelled of canned, rose-scented potpourri.
    One of the women, past thirty years old but trying hard for twenty, was on the phone. The other, my age or a little older, typed at her computer, peering through half-glasses perched at the end of her nose. After glancing at the younger woman with a hint of irritation, she turned to me. “How can I help you?”
    “I’m looking for the agent who represents the property on Sweet Springs.”
    “That’s Ms. Sherman.” She leaned to one side to look around me, catching her co-worker’s eye meaningfully. “Uh, Gail?”
    The other agent went about ending her call and stood to greet me. Ms. Sherman was an attractive woman with what I think of as a bad case of Too-Much: too much eyeliner, too much fashion buy-in, too much body