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

over and sat in the other porch chair identical to his.
    "How are you doing? I'm Lexie. You're Mr. Fischer, aren't you?"
    "Yes. Robert Fischer. And I'm doing fine, young lady. How are you?"
    "I'm okay. Are you staying outside to try to escape the hubbub inside?"
    "Yes. I didn't figure I had much to tell the investigators that would be of any help.
     I didn't see anything, didn't hear anything," he said. He laughed in a mocking manner,
     and added, " 'Course I take my hearing aids out when I go to bed at night, and without
     them I couldn't hear an elephant fart in a metal bucket."
    I smiled and then noticed there was no smoke coming from Mr. Fischer's pipe as he
     inhaled repeatedly on its stem.
    "Your fire's gone out, Mr. Fischer," I said, pointing at the barrel of his pipe.
    "Robert, please, or Bert if you'd like. What's your name again, little lady? My memory
     is not as good as it used to be."
    "Alexandria Starr, but please call me Lexie."
    "Lexie, ahhh, I see. Hence, the 'Alexandria' Inn."
    "Yes." I smiled at the congenial old man.
    "Well, Lexie, I gave up smoking about a dozen years ago. Or, I should say, I gave
     up tobacco, but not the pipe. Got tired of Ernestine yapping at me about the health
     hazards of smoking, and I decided to avenge myself by outliving her and marrying some
     fluffy, big-breasted twenty-year-old after the old nag's dead and gone."
    I wasn't sure how to respond to that remark, so I didn't. Instead, I smiled inanely
     and nodded my head. Eventually, sensing my discomfort, the octogenarian chuckled and
     told me he'd only been joking with me. Suddenly an expression of chagrin flashed across
     his face as he realized his inappropriate choice of words. He waved his hand back
     and forth, as if trying to erase the callous remark about his wife, and said, "Please
     forgive me for being so insensitive. I meant that as a joke. I wasn't thinking—"
    "That's okay. But Ernestine's right you know," I interrupted, excusing his untimely
     quip in an attempt to ease his embarrassment. "Smoking is a slow form of suicide,
     and I'm glad you were able to quit. I kicked the nasty habit a few years ago myself.
     I walked around with a lollipop in my mouth for weeks, until the inside of my cheek
     was almost permanently puckered, so I imagine still having the pipe in your mouth,
     even without actually smoking tobacco in it, makes it easier for you to—"
    "Nah, not really," he cut in. "I just happen to think the pipe makes me look more
     sophisticated."
    I laughed, but Robert didn't, so I wasn't sure if he was joking again or not, but
     I decided to get down to the business at hand.
    "Stone said you told him that Mr. Prescott and Ms. Swift were engaged to marry years
     ago. Is that true?"
    "Uh-huh."
    "Seems like such an unlikely match to me."
    "Well, no, not really. Our Ms. Swift was a remarkably attractive woman in her prime,
     and Horatio appreciated anyone in a skirt who had more curves than brains. Rosalinda
     had her own reasons to find the partnership attractive, one being that she was heavily
     mortgaged at the time. She'd borrowed a lot from the bank to make costly home renovations
     and was actively looking for a solution to her money problems. And as a former banker,
     I know that to be the truth. I handled both of their accounts the last year or two
     before I retired. Somehow Horatio discovered she was a gold-digger, and he closed
     the mine, so to speak."
    "How did they meet? Do you know?" I asked.
    "They were both divorced, and both owned homes in the historic Museum Hill District
     of St. Joseph, houses dating back to the late eighteen hundreds. Rosalinda's home
     is a Victorian like this one, designed by the locally famous European architect, E.J.
     Eckel, and Horatio's was an Italianate mansion. Still a part of his vast holdings,
     last I knew. I'm fairly certain the two met through the Historical Society. Like Horatio,
     there are a number of people who live in St. Joseph but belong to the