Free MURDER at CRAWFORD HOUSE (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 3) by Leslie Leigh Page A

service and all." He bit his lip again."Heart attack, huh?"
                  "Yup."
                  "Mmm. I'd like to talk with Larry and Molly, but I guess I should let them sleep a bit. I guess you all probably had a pretty rough night."
                  "Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I sure did."
                  He stared at her with faint recognition. "Where are you from?"
                  "From Verdenier."
                  "Verden—, wait, what did you say your name was again?"
                  "Griffin. Allie Griffin."
                  "You're not the Allie Griffin I read about in the news? The one who solved that murder case?"
                  She raised her hand. "One and the same."
                  A bright smile appeared on the man's rugged face. "How about that." He held out his hand and she shook it. "You were a kind of folk hero there for a while."
                  "I wouldn’t say that."
                  He smiled and shook his head. "Isn’t that something?" He looked around and over her shoulder. "So I gather Larry and Molly's staff isn’t here?"
                  "They dismissed them yesterday, and...well, with the storm and all..."
                  "Mmm. So there's no one here to cook breakfast."
                  "Uh, no, I guess not."
                  He nodded. "Mmm. How many people you have staying here?"
                  "Uh, seven? Sorry, six altogether." She felt stupid making that mistake.
                  "Six. Mmm." He nodded with a brooding expression, and then his face suddenly became animated. "Well, I guess then I have some work to do here." With that, he began heading toward the back of the house.
                  "Wh-where are you going?" Allie said.
                  Brother Al spun around, continued walking backwards, opened his arms, and said, "Going to make some breakfast."
                  As Allie watched him go, she heard an all-too-familiar voice say, "Nice of that man."
                  It was Jürgen, standing in the threshold of the drawing room. He had a book under his arm, and he looked as though he'd slept in his clothes.
                  "Where did you come from? Were you..."
                  "I sleep here last night. I couldn’t fall asleep with that horrible wind and the snow and the man dying upstairs. Terrible. I come down here and get a book from the library and I sit and read on the couch till I pass out."
                  "Did you sleep well, at least?"
                  He stretched with a great deal of vocalization that sounded like a cockatiel squawking in protest at the approach of a cat. "No. One, maybe two hours."
                  Allie's stomach tightened. "And you've been down here the whole night?"
                  "Mmm hmm. I sit in library for a while then I come in here."
                  Allie realized there was very little chance Jürgen heard any of her and Del's escapades during the night. Still, there was a chance, and that worried her. She decided now was as good a time as any to begin her official investigation, if one could call it that.
                  She decided that caution, extreme caution, would be the watchword of the weekend's remainder.
                  "Jürgen," she said, "can you and I talk a little bit?"
                  The man smiled. "If we can have coffee."

6.
     
                  The coffee flowed, and so did Jürgen's conversation. The two sat in the little breakfast nook on the western side of the house.
                  "What is the last thing you remember about Bertie? Your last impression?"
                  "Well I would say when he