Free Éclair and Present Danger by Laura Bradford

into the flyer, she heard herself gasp. “Wait a minute. This says Bart’s home is for sale! I—I don’t understand. I just found him
yesterday
.”
    â€œI don’t know who put this here, but I can sure find out.” Greg opened the lounge door, poked his head into the bay, and whistled. “Chuck? Stan? Can you guys come in here for a minute? I want to ask you a quick question.” Within seconds, Chuck (the redhead) and Stan (the balding middle school girl) were standing beside the corkboard. Chuck gave a passing glance to the flyer Winnie handed him and then passed it to Stan. “Yeah, I know about this. Pinned it to the board myself yesterday afternoon. Still trying to decide if I want to—”
    â€œYesterday afternoon? As in
before
I saw you?” She heard the shrillness in her voice and worked to soften it as she saw Chuck nod and then exchange a confused glance with Stan. “Where did you get this?”
    Stan handed the flyer back to Winnie. “A friend of mine stopped by as I was finishing up lunch and asked if he could run off a few flyers on our copier. He only ran off ten so it wasn’t a big deal. When he was done, I offered to hang on to two here at the station to help get the word out. I pinned one to the bulletin board in the lobby for the public to see, and asked Chuck to put the other one in here in case any of the crew is looking to buy a new place.”
    â€œBut that house wasn’t for sale!”
    â€œAccording to Mark it was.” The jingle of a bellsomewhere outside the lounge had Stan gesturing toward the door from which he’d just come. “Oh, sorry, but I gotta get back to my desk. Duty calls.”
    At Greg’s reluctant nod, Stan headed back out of the lounge.
    â€œMark?” she said, whirling around to face Greg. “
Mark
? Who’s Mark—”
    And then she knew.
    â€œWinnie?”
    Mark Reilly. Ethel’s son.
    â€œWinnie?”
    Had Bart conceded to the sale? Or was Mark proceeding ahead on his own despite the wishes of his stepfather?
    A click off to her right snapped her back into the moment, and she realized Chuck was no longer in the room.
    â€œDo you want to sit down again?”
    She looked up from the flyer as a different, far more disturbing scenario began to play out in her thoughts. “Is there a way to know how long Bart had been dead before I found him?”
    â€œSure. The autopsy will be able to tell us that. But, even before that report comes in, rigor mortis can get us pretty darn close to time of death.”
    â€œWould Chuck know if that had started to set in?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œCould you call him back in one last time?” she asked. “So I could ask him?”
    Greg shifted from foot to foot, his gaze never leaving her face. “You sure you want to hear this?”
    â€œI don’t want to,” she whispered. “I
have
to.”

Chapter 8

    I t was a beautiful evening.
    The kind of evening capable of relaxing even the most tightly wound nerves.
    Unless, of course, those nerves had been wound to the breaking point by the kind of details no one should have to hear about a friend or loved one.
    â€œWhat’s got you so distracted this evening?”
    Winnie traced her finger around the top of her glass and weighed her options.
    If she told Mr. Nelson and Bridget what she’d learned from Chuck, she risked getting them upset over Bart’s murder all over again. Then again, if she could use them as a sounding board, maybe they could hand the man’s murderer to the police with a great big bow tied neatly on top.
    â€œProbably that iced tea of yours, Parker.” Bridget pulled her hand from the top of Lovey’s head and repositioned herself against the back of her favorite wicker chair. “Did you even put iced tea mix in the water?”
    â€œWhat’s that, Bridget?” Mr. Nelson shouted. “You want more iced