The Stone of Sadness (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

to keep, and things he wanted to sell in a yard sale. She carried the things that would be thrown out into the garage. A trash removal company would be coming in the morning to haul the unwanted articles away. Olivia brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and wiped her dirty hands on her old shorts.
    She spotted Mr. Andrews, the landscaper, parking his truck in the driveway alongside one of the construction worker’s vans. Olivia’s cousin had hired Mr. Andrews to cut and trim the lawn at the house. Olivia waved to him and then went into the kitchen through the door from the garage.
    Mr. Andrews rang the bell when he had finished his work. He was a spry silver-haired man in his late-sixties. His skin was dark and leathery from years of working outside.
    “Hey, Mr. Andrews, come on in. John left an envelope for you. Come to the kitchen. How about a cold drink?” Olivia said.
    “A cold drink sounds good. Damn heat,” Mr. Andrews said wiping his forehead with a handkerchief that he retrieved from his back pocket. He followed Olivia to the kitchen at the rear of the house.
    Olivia put ice cubes into a tall glass and poured lemonade into it. She put a slice of orange on the rim before handing it to Mr. Andrews.
    “That looks great. Thanks.”
    “Have a seat. John left the envelope on the desk in the den. I’ll be right back with it,” Olivia told him.
    When she returned with the envelope, Mr. Andrews was scanning the account of the murders in the old newspaper that she left on the kitchen table.
    “This was a damned thing,” he said still looking at the front page. “I remember it well. Forty years ago? Hard to believe it was so long ago.”
    “You lived in Howland back then?”
    “Oh, sure. We’ve been here since 1968. The Monahans lived on the next street over from us. We had kids close in age.” He shook his head. “Bah. Hadn’t thought about it for a long time.”
    “Were you friends?”
    “Can’t say we were friends, exactly. Friendly. My wife knew her. We’d see them at church. The women taught Sunday School. They’d help out at the church when there was a funeral. Things like that.”
    “I read in the old papers that the police thought the killer was a local guy, a young man from town,” Olivia said.
    “Yeah, I heard that. Nothing came of it, far as I know.”
    “No one was ever arrested,” Olivia said.
    “Damn shame. Something like that and no arrest.”
    “What was the talk? Did people think it was the local guy?”
    “Some did. There was lots of gossip. Some thought one of the priests at St. Catherine’s was involved. Don’t know if there was any truth to any of it.”
    “Why would someone suspect the priest?” Olivia asked.
    “Never knew the details. Women were attracted to him. Ask me, he probably encouraged the attention. I never liked the guy. He seemed like a ladies’ man.”
    “The victims were John’s and my distant cousins,” Olivia said.
    “Were they? My, God.”
    “I’ve been reading about the murders. I’d like to know why no one was arrested.”
    Mr. Andrews read a bit more of the old article. “Look, Olivia, why don’t you give my wife a call. She might remember more than I do about what happened and what people were thinking. Our number is on the invoice for the lawn.” He pointed to the bill he had left on the table.
    “I’d hate to bother her. She wouldn’t mind?”
    Andrews scoffed. “She never minds talking, that one. She’d be glad to talk to you.” He checked his watch. “I gotta get a move on. Still have a number of lawns to do. Thank you for the cold drink.”
    Olivia walked Mr. Andrews to the front door.
    When she returned to the kitchen, Olivia glanced at the old newspaper on the table. She played Brad’s words in her head. It was so long ago. Leave it alone. Don’t stir anything up. None of us want a summer like last year. She turned the paper over so that the Monahans’ photos weren’t visible and she headed for the garage to finish