Free Éclair and Present Danger by Laura Bradford Page A

tea?”
    Bridget raised her gaze to the porch ceiling, rolled her eyes, and muttered something under her breath about men and stubbornness. While Winnie couldn’t make out each and every word, she got the general gist.
    Winnie guided Mr. Nelson’s confused eyes to her ear. “Turn up your hearing aids, Mr. Nelson.”
    He stuck his finger into first his left, and then his right ear. When he was done, he turned back to Bridget. “Do you want more tea?”
    â€œNo!”
    Waving their neighbor off with a flick of his hand, Mr. Nelson focused his attention back on Winnie. “What’s on your mind, Winnie Girl?”
    â€œMark put Bart and Ethel’s place up for sale.” There. She said it.
    Bridget snapped forward in her chair so fast, Lovey aborted the liftoff attempt that would have landed her safely in the elderly woman’s lap and, instead, scurried in the opposite direction. “Bart’s body isn’t even in the ground yet!”
    Pushing her glass into the center of the tiny table between herself and Mr. Nelson, Winnie patted her lap in the hope that Lovey would come over.
    Lovey simply looked at her and hissed.
    â€œTrue. But he
was
dead . . .”
    Bypassing her offer, Lovey jumped onto Mr. Nelson’s lap as the man leaned forward, eyes wide. “What makes you say that?”
    â€œI—I just know, that’s all.” She knew she was being evasive, but she wasn’t sure filling in details was advisable, either.
    â€œ
How
do you know this, Winnie?” Bridget persisted.
    â€œI saw the flyer. I spoke with the person Mark gave it to before I’d even found Bart . . . but
after
he was dead.”
    Lovey turned herself around in Mr. Nelson’s lap and then settled herself against his stomach. “But if you hadn’t found him yet, Winnie Girl, no one could have known he was dead.”
    â€œNo one except the killer,” Bridget said, her voice dripping with irritation. Then, to Winnie, she said, “What do you know?”
    â€œThis is off the record, Bridget. I’m not law enforcement.” When she got the nod of agreement she was seeking, she continued, the nature of her words bringing a hesitancy to her voice she wouldn’t otherwise have. “According to Greg Stevens and one of the EMTs—”
    â€œGreg Stevens?” Mr. Nelson parroted. “Who’s that?”
    â€œMaster Sergeant Hottie.”
    She smiled at Bridget and then continued, all momentary amusement disappearing rapidly. “Rigor mortis tends to set in after about three to four hours. A body will reach full stiffness, if you will, at about twelve hours. Bart was nearing full stiffness when I found him yesterday evening.”
    It was Mr. Nelson’s turn to look at the ceiling while Bridget closed her eyes and wrapped her hand around the tiny gold cross that dangled from a chain around her stubby neck.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Winnie said, pushing back her chair and making her way over to first Bridget, and then Mr. Nelson. “I shouldn’t be sharing this with you. It’s too much. Too soon.”
    Bridget held fast to her cross but opened her eyes to look at Winnie. “No. Bart was our friend. We want answers.”
    At Mr. Nelson’s slow nod, Winnie returned to her chair and continued. “Even without the results of Bart’s autopsy, we know that it’s likely Bart was killed sometime between eight and nine o’clock yesterday morning.”
    â€œI was eating breakfast,” Bridget mumbled. “I’ve been having this thing where it feels as if my throat is closing in on itself, and I was focused on making sure not to choke . . .”
    Mr. Nelson’s brow furrowed in thought only to releaseas he returned to petting the cat. “I think I was out back, readying the garbage to go out. Or maybe here, playing chess.”
    â€œDid you see a car parked outside