by Loretta Ross
Emily stirred her gravy, then turned to look into the dining room. “Do you think he did it because he felt guilty?”
Death laughed. “I think he did it because Frank Appelbaum made him. Claudio had Appelbaum’s great-great-grandmother’s painting, remember. The Ring Portrait? He returned it, reluctantly. He’s claiming it was only a prank and that he was just testing the museum’s security. Appelbaum and Warner reached an agreement with him not to prosecute him for stealing it. Or rather, for arranging to have it stolen. I don’t know the specifics, but I told them the whole story about Ingrid, and Bender turned the supper club over to the Vikings the next day.”
“Well, good for them if they made him do it, then,” Emily said.
“What about Bob?” Randy asked. “Are you going to leave him buried in your rosebushes?”
“I don’t know,” Wren said, cutting a sideways glance at Death. “Are we? You know, I’m kind of sad that Bob turned out to be a creep.”
“Well, he died a pretty awful death,” Death pointed out. “Probably a better fate for a creep than a nice guy.”
“Yeah. But now we have a creep in our roses.”
“Does he have family?” Edgar asked.
“Not that we can find. No one who wants to claim him, anyway.”
“Then I’d leave him where he is. He’s not hurting anyone there, and it makes for an interesting story. Besides, if you have him dug up and moved somewhere, it’d be hard on the roses.”
“That’s a point,” Wren agreed. “I hadn’t thought of that. They really are beautiful flowers.”
“So what are you going to do now that your case is solved?” Edgar asked Death.
“Find another one. But right now I have a move to make happen and a wedding to help plan.”
They seated themselves around the table, just the five of them, and all hesitated uncertainly.
“We’ve never been a very religious family,” Emily said. “If one of you would like to say grace, though, that would be fine.”
“Maybe we could each just say what we’re thankful for,” Wren suggested.
“Would it be too shallow of me to say I’m thankful for pie?” Randy asked.
“Yes,” Death told him. “Come on, Baranduin. Try a little harder.”
“Okay, fine. I’m thankful that my brother, Death Dunadin, has a name that’s just as weird as mine.” Death glared at him. Randy grinned, then sobered, picked up his tea, and held it up for a toast. “And, if we’re going to be serious for a minute, I think that Death and Wren and I can all be thankful just to be alive.”
“After the year we’ve had,” Wren said, “ain’t that the truth?”
They clinked their glasses.
“I’m thankful for my truck,” Edgar said.
“You’re supposed to be thankful for your family,” Emily admonished him.
“Everybody always says they’re thankful for their family,” Edgar objected. “I want to be thankful for my truck.”
“Well, I’m thankful for my grandchildren.” Emily smiled.
“You have grandchildren, Mrs. M?” Randy asked.
“Not yet,” she said, with a pointed look at Death and Wren. “I’m being thankful in advance.”
“Right,” Wren muttered. “No pressure.”
“What about you, Wren?” Randy prompted.
“I’m thankful for the Marine Corps never leaving anyone behind,” she said. “And I’m thankful for Madeline making horrible choices. And I’m thankful we found Randy when we did. And I’m thankful for our pretty new house.” She looked around and faltered and her eyes filled with tears.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Death asked gently.
“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just … I’m happy we’re moving. I really am. Only I just realized this is the last Thanksgiving I’ll spend here.”
“You can be happy and sad at the same time,” Death told her. “It’s okay.”
“I know.” Wren gave him a watery smile. “What about you? What are you thankful for?”
“Edgar’s truck,” he said. “And this family. You know, the last time Randy and I had a family to sit down to Thanksgiving dinner with—not friends, but a family we were actually a part of—it was way back in my senior year of high school. The next year I was stationed overseas, and by the time I got out our parents and grandparents and great-grandmother had all passed away. This time last year, I thought Randy was dead. And I was homeless and penniless and living in my car. I look around and see how much my life has changed and it amazes me every day. I never thought it could be this good again.”
Wren jumped up, circled the table, and hugged him.
“Now, now,” her father said. “No hanky-panky at the dinner table.”
“Mrs. M did say she wanted grandkids,” Randy pointed out.
“After the wedding,” Emily said. “Nothing ruins a white dress like the bride’s water breaking.” She slid the turkey over to Death. “Here, dear. Do you want to carve?”
“I would be honored.” Death stood, looked around the table, and hesitated.
“What is it?” Wren asked.
He shrugged. “I suppose all the knives are packed?”
the end
About the Author
Loretta Ross is a writer and historian who lives and works in rural Missouri. She is an alumna of Cottey College and holds a BA in archaeology from the University of Missouri–Columbia. She has loved mysteries since she first learned to read. Death & the Viking’s Daughter is the fourth novel in her Auction Block Mystery series.
Death & the Gravedigger’s Angel
(Book 3 in the Auction Block Mystery series)
Loretta Ross
When former army medic Tony Dozier is accused of killing a member of the hate group that disrupted his wife’s funeral, the prosecution charges premeditated murder and the defense claims temporary insanity. Former marine Death Bogart and auctioneer Wren Morgan think there’s more to the story.
They’re both led to the long-abandoned Hadleigh House, where Wren begins preparing the contents for auction but ends up appraising the story behind an antique sketchbook. As Wren uncovers the century-old tale of a World War I soldier and his angel, Death finds a set of truths that will change … or end … their lives.
978-0-7387-5041-5, 264pp., 5¼ x 8$14.99