The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

that?"
    "As you may have noticed, we got about two inches of snow last night. The snow fell
     between midnight and three A.M." There was a certain quality of smugness in Stone's voice I'd never heard before. I
     knew he was enjoying the resurgence of our sleuthing partnership. He enjoyed a challenge
     as much as I did.
    "And?" I prompted.
    "There were no footprints in the snow between the house and the street. Just a few
     incidental prints between here and the house next door, leading up to the front porch
     from the side yard rather than the sidewalk. The investigators took a few photos of
     the prints, but don't feel too strongly they have anything to do with the murder.
     They think the footprints may have been from the shoes of an officer who reported
     to the scene when I called nine-one-one for assistance."
    "So, what's the significance?"
    "No sign of intruders. Don't you see? It looks very likely that Mr. Prescott was killed
     by someone staying in the inn. Otherwise, there'd most likely be footprints leading
     out to the street."
    "Oh."
    "And also there are no signs of a forced entry. I remember checking all the doors
     last night after the guests retired to their rooms and once again, just before I went
     to my own room. That makes it even more probable that the killer is among our own
     little covey of quail," Stone said. He watched me as his words soaked in and then
     asked, "Got any thoughts or ideas?"
    Did he mean other than the fact I'd be rearranging the furniture in my room tonight
     so that it was all piled strategically in front of the door? I'd also most likely
     be placing a fingernail file under my pillow because it's the closest thing I possessed
     to a lethal weapon. Gee, and I had thought insomnia was a problem last night?
    "Well, Stone, I know I didn't like Mr. Dack's attitude or his demeanor this morning
     when he found out his business partner had been killed. He expressed feelings of sorrow
     and grief, but he didn't show a lot of physical anguish at the news. And he didn't
     appear to be overly stunned, either. He seemed a little too matter-of-fact about the
     whole thing to me. And why did he oversleep? Could he have been up doing dastardly
     deeds in the middle of the night?"
    "It's possible, I guess. But how could a guy kill someone in cold blood and then slip
     back into bed for a few extra zees?"
    "I don't know, but I think we need to have a talk with him. Feel him out if we can."
    "I agree, but we're not official investigators, Lexie. He's under no obligation to
     tell us anything, you know. We'll have to approach this in a clever fashion."
    "Oh, I think we can find clever ways to get the answers we're looking for."
    "Hmm. Why does your tone of voice alarm me?" Stone asked.
    "No guts, no glory."
    "Glory's for young guys who are in better shape than I am," Stone said. He lifted
     up the carafe to warm up my coffee, and as he poured it, he asked, "Say, did you know
     Rosalinda Swift was once engaged to Horatio?"
    "You've got to be kidding!"
    "No, it's true. Or, at least it's true according to Robert Fischer, who's known Horatio
     for years. He said the two were engaged for several months about fifteen years ago,
     but Horatio broke it off when Rosalinda refused to sign a prenuptial agreement. Since
     the engagement debacle, the two have pretty much just ignored each other—in public,
     anyway. But Robert thinks there's a chance Rosalinda's carried a grudge against Horatio
     all these years for degrading her by even asking her to sign the agreement, and then
     embarrassing her even more by calling off the engagement. Perhaps she decided to exact
     a little revenge—retribution for the public humiliation she suffered."
    "He humiliated her and embarrassed her to the point that fifteen years later she put
     a slug in his brain? No, I don't really think so, Stone. A crime of passion that takes
     place fifteen years after the fact? I just don't buy it. No scorned woman would wait
     that long to