A Good Year for a Corpse, page 26
part #7 of Susan Henshaw Mystery Series
“Good at thinking on his feet, wasn’t he?” Kathleen asked.
“Sure was. He certainly wouldn’t have met Horace Harvey if he had known that Harvey planned to kill him, and the murder itself must have been self-defense. But once he had killed Harvey, he took advantage of every aspect of the situation, both the clues and Charles’s past.”
“I stopped in to see Brett this morning,” Kathleen said, getting up to retrieve the ball her son had accidentally tossed over his head.
The retriever, living up to its breed’s reputation, beat her to it, and Kathleen had to work to get the ball from the dog’s mouth, much to her son’s delight.
“Is Brett still criticizing me for last night?” Susan asked, getting up to help her friend.
“You have to admit, it could have been very dangerous,” Kathleen said.
“You’re right. I just didn’t think about the fact that he was armed. It was stupid.”
“Well, Brett had copies of the papers from the safe in Boston—the police department up there faxed them out overnight—and there were complete records of all Harvey’s financial transactions from Honey Bradshaw on.”
“He really wasn’t a nice man,” Susan said.
“At least the library will benefit from his death,” Kathleen reminded her, looking down at the dog. “Should she be eating those flowers?”
Susan leapt to protect a bed of pansies from her pet. “Come on, Clue, Tillie Greenleaf and H.E.C. will ban you from the park if you eat their flowers.”
“Clue?”
“The family has finally decided on a name. They announced it over breakfast this morning. They named this sweet little thing Clue in honor of me. Or, to be more exact, they filled out her papers, mailed them in, and registered her as ‘Susan Hasn’t Got a Clue.’ ”
“Maybe the American Kennel Club already has a dog registered under that name and they won’t allow it,” Kathleen suggested.
The puppy crawled up in Susan’s lap, leaving muddy paw prints on her slacks and drooling petals on her linen shirt. Susan scratched the soft golden head. “We can only hope.”
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Valerie Wolzien, A Good Year for a Corpse
