The Magic of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

her eyes—well, that’s what it looked like to me.
    “Give me a break, will you?” I said. “I was up half the night writing.”
    She snorted.
    “What do you mean I didn’t write anything that mattered?”
    She tilted her head.
    I shifted on the sofa and bent toward her. “I’m not bullshitting you!” My voice went up an octave. “You were there. You saw what I was—”
    At the very moment I realized the cat had again drawn me into an argument, I heard a knock on my front door. My face hot—from anger at Elvira or embarrassment at letting her get the better of the argument?—I jumped from the sofa and yanked the door open.
    “What?” I demanded with a sharp edge to my voice.
    On my door stoop stood a black quilted jacket, green rubber boots laced over baggy jeans, a flannel scarf wound around the little I could see of a face, and a knit cap pulled so low on a head the figure looked like a cartoon character with no ears. The man on the stoop might have been a predator who intended to break into my home, ravish my body, and make off with my treasures. Okay, I’ve already admitted I have an active imagination. There are no treasures in my home, and my body—well, let’s just say it’s been a long time since anyone would risk jail for ravishing me. Besides, I knew who this was. Earlier, while I poured my coffee, through the window I’d watched my neighbor ride his snowplow like it was the mechanical bull at Flannery’s Bar. 
    On the frigid side of the storm door, Roger Frey swiveled his head from side-to-side, as if searching for who I hollered at.
    At times, I’ve stood before a mirror, arguing with myself, and seen what I look like when I blush. My neck gets as red as my hair, then the color dashes uphill past my face to my forehead. So, I knew what Roger saw when he looked at me.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled to what I could see of his face. “Cranky. I was up half the night.”
    His voice muted by the scarf covering his mouth, he said, “No need to apologize.” He knew the hours I kept when the muse plopped down next to me.
    The glass door misted when he leaned close to peer past my shoulder.
    I looked behind me. Elvira had followed me to the door. She stared at us, head slightly tilted. The pale pink of her eyes darkened as if she’d decided something.
    Roger nodded at her. “At least you’re not alone anymore.”
    “Me or the cat?” I said.
    “Both, I suppose.” When Roger pulled down the scarf, his grin showed the small gap between his front teeth.
    “I prefer being alone,” I said. “If you want company, feel free to take the cat.”
    My friend and neighbor had been alone since his wife took off for a warmer place three years ago.
    Elvira sniffed once. Then she turned abruptly, wiggled her large derriere at me, and curled up on the floor at my feet.
    Roger laughed out loud.
    As if loosened by the laughter that exploded from deep inside him, a sheet of snow skidded off the roof. He must have heard the rumble, because he took a quick step backwards. He wasn’t fast enough, though. While half the snow thudded to the ground, the rest flattened his wool cap and spilled down his face. His hazel eyes rounded in surprise.
    Now I laughed. With snow all over his body, it looked as though Frosty the Snowman was on my stoop. I opened the storm door and brushed the snow from his cheek. “Come in here,” I said. “Let me dry you off.”
    He stamped his feet on the mat to rid himself of most of the snow.
    As I stepped aside to make room for him to pass, I stumbled over the cat.
    Roger moved faster than he had to avoid the snow drift from my roof. His arm shot out. “Careful!” he said, and grabbed me around the waist just as I began to flop like a rag doll to floor. 
    The man is certainly strong. In a single motion, he lifted me from my feet then set me down. His arms still surrounded me.
    “You okay?”
    I nodded, but couldn’t speak, not even to say yes. I’m sure it was because I was a little