Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)
Page 26
I had answered scores of questions about the incident at the mall: Did I know the identity of the man in the Santa suit? No. Did I know why he would want to run away with my baby? No. Why was I in the mall in the first place? The questions went on and on in this vein until the officials were satisfied.
A week later, with much groaning and gnashing of teeth, Gil set up our artificial Christmas tree. I had put Janet to bed and was popping corn to string on the tree when there was a knock at our door. I looked through the peephole and jumped back as though scalded.
“Honey, what is it?” Gil joined me at the door.
A muffled voice called, “Miss Prentice, please, it is I, Dr. Willard Stickley.”
I heaved a huge sigh of relief. “It’s the real one. Let him in.”
Gil frowned. “How do you know?”
“I just do,” I said impatiently and pulled the door open. “Dr. Stickley, it’s good to see you doing so well after your ordeal.” I extended my hand to be shaken.
“I came to thank you,” he said as he took a seat on our sofa. “I understand that were it not for your perception, my brother would have usurped me.”
“You mean—”
He nodded and his snowy eyebrows dipped into a frown. “That’s correct; my own flesh and blood. I’d sought him out with the help of a private detective. It was a requirement of my father’s will. William came to stay with me. We weren’t compatible, I must say. He’s a slovenly individual. And he wanted to get a cat!” The professor shuddered.
“Sir, why did you volunteer to be a substitute Santa?” Gil asked, his reporterly instincts on alert.
“That was all William’s doing. I had no knowledge of it until the mall people called him to come in. I adamantly refused to allow him to participate in such a ridiculous charade.” Dr. Stickley straightened his posture and continued, “All at once, he shoved me into a closet and locked the door. It’s my belief that the man planned to do away with me and take my place in this community.” The eyebrows shot up his forehead, creating a curiously vulnerable expression.
“Did he actually say so?” I asked, shocked.
The vulnerability immediately disappeared and Dr. Willard Stickley resumed the frosty tone I remembered so well. His piercing blue eyes narrowed. “Not in so many words, but it is certainly a logical assumption.”
Gil leaned forward, and I could tell that his fingers itched to hold a pad and pencil. “What happens now, sir?”
“I presume he’ll stand trial. Obviously, he has forfeited any claim to my familial affection or, for that matter, any portion of the inheritance.”
“Does he have a lawyer?” I asked, thinking of Santa’s warm chuckle as he played with the children.
The temperature in the room dropped a few more degrees. “I have no idea. Certainly there are public defenders available.”
“Are there no prisons, no workhouses?” I recalled the words of the pre-ghost Scrooge.
He stood. “Well, I must take my leave. Again, I must thank you for recognizing the difference between us. My brother claims he had forgotten there was a baby in his hands. I trust your infant has sustained no vestigial trauma.”
“No,” I said, “she’s fine.” We escorted Dr. Stickley to the door.
From the bedroom, sounds of the aforementioned infant were heard.
“Stay here.” Gil patted me on the back. “I’ll see about the kid. G’bye, sir.”
Stepping out onto our front porch and replacing his alpine felt hat on his white head, Dr. Willard Stickley turned to me. “I understand you have made a career of teaching English.”
“Yes,” I said, gratified by the recognition.
He held up a gloved finger and his eyes bored into mine. “Then I trust you will hasten to instruct your husband in the proper definition of the word kid. Good evening.”
Incomplete Sentence . . .
Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series
Book 4
By
E. E. Kennedy
Coming Fall 2015