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

hardware. No matter what the designers preach, we girls need to think for ourselves when getting dressed in the morning. Even if yellow is proclaimed this fall’s color, that doesn’t mean you should put it next to your pasty face in the form of a bulbous, loose-woven infinity scarf.
    Of course I would never in a million years say such a thing aloud, so I said, “That’s a lovely scarf.”
    She patted it. “Thanks.”
    “I like silky ones in muted tones for autumn,” I said. “For me, the bulky ones are a little overpowering.”
    Her smile told me she didn’t get the hint, so I got down to business. “I met a lady the other day who lives on Sweet Springs, and I’m wondering if you’re her niece.”
    Gail’s nose wrinkled as if she’d caught a whiff of something nasty, but it was gone in an instant. “You met Aunt Clara?”
    “I was visiting a friend at the Meadows and ran into her in the TV room.” It didn’t seem like a great idea to let on we’d snooped on Clara’s property. “She wondered how her hens are doing.”
    She looked blank for a moment. “Oh, the chickens. They’re fine. I went out there this morning to check on them.”
    A sharp movement at the other desk said Gail’s office mate didn’t believe Gail any more than I did. While I’d seen for myself that the chickens weren’t fine, the other woman must have come to her conclusion based on experience.
    Gail’s blithe assurance was a problem. I couldn’t very well call her a liar to her face, and if I didn’t, I had to accept her contention she’d done as her aunt asked. That meant coming up with another reason for stopping in. “I understand there’s property for sale on Sweet Springs.”
    Her nails, painted black with little orange pumpkins, tapped on the desk a second too long before she said, “No, there isn’t.”
    Again I couldn’t contradict her, but we’d seen the signs: one at the turnoff and one in the driveway to the Clausen house. “I must have misunderstood. Clara said—”
    “Clara gets things mixed up,” Gail interrupted. “That’s why she’s in a nursing home.”
    “Oh. She seemed okay. Told me about the springs and all.”
    “People with dementia live in the past,” she said bluntly. “Clara couldn’t stay out there by herself any longer, so I got her into a place where she’s taken care of.” Her manner became brisk. “I hate to rush, but I have a showing in twenty minutes.”
    The other woman had stopped typing to listen to our conversation. Noting that two deep lines had appeared between her brows, I thought she was surprised and possibly irritated by what she’d heard. Since nothing I’d said would bother a total stranger, I guessed she was unhappy with Gail.
    Barbara sneers at what she calls my “need for intrigue,” but something in that office smelled wrong. It wasn’t just the odor of stale cigarette smoke emanating from the jacket Gail took from a peg on the wall behind her. She’d lied about the chickens—Okay, maybe she was ashamed to admit she’d neglected her duty to her aunt—but she was lying about the parcel of land as well. Her co-worker bit her lip, as if trying not to say what she was thinking.
    Eager to know what that was, I pulled a trick I’ve used once or twice when I want to speak to someone alone. Casually setting my sunglasses down on the desk where Gail couldn’t see them I said, “I’ll let you get to your showing. Thanks for your time.”
    Ten minutes later Gail left the office, lighting a cigarette as she went, and got into a bright red SUV. As soon as she was out of sight, I went back inside. “Did I leave my—? There they are. My husband used to say I’d forget my head—you know.” I scooped up the glasses, acting frustrated with myself.
    “Mine says stuff like that about me all the time.” I looked at the desk-plate to note her name, Norma Ziegler, as she went on. “But when a man loses something, who does he expect to find it? His