Free Éclair and Present Danger by Laura Bradford Page B

Bart’s?” Winnie asked, sitting up tall. “Any sign of someone going in or out of his house? Any unusual people? Sounds?”
    â€œCan’t say that I did.”
    Bridget snorted. “Not that Parker would hear anything, anyway, when he’s staring at that chessboard of his . . .”
    Anxious to avoid a fight, Winnie took up where she left off, her suspicions and fears finding their way into their most articulate form yet. “I guess I’m wondering why—if Bart was killed between eight and nine and I didn’t find him until ten hours later—Mark was running off house flyers at lunchtime for a house
he
didn’t own . . . but Bart did.”
    Lovey’s head popped up over the edge of the table at the sound of Bridget’s gasp. “He knew his stepfather was dead because
he
killed him! I knew it! Why, I’ve been saying that man was up to no good for years, haven’t I, Parker?”
    Mr. Nelson tried to keep Lovey from jumping down, but the cat, having been disturbed from her lap-induced slumber, was having none of it.
    Without waiting for Parker’s nod, Bridget continued, her excitement tempered by a resigned sadness. “From what Ethel told me, Mark was just shy of two when she met Bart, and Bart accepted and loved that baby as if he was his own. What a kick in the head it is to know that none of that mattered in the end.”
    â€œBridget, I can’t say for certain that’s—”
    â€œHe couldn’t wait another year or two until nature ran its course? He had to help it along by suffocating the only father he’d ever known?”
    â€œBridget. Please. This is just a theory. It will be up to the police to see if it has any merit.”
    â€œDid you take it to them?” Mr. Nelson asked as he struggled to his feet and followed Lovey around the porch,stopping every few steps to look across the street at Bart’s home.
    â€œNo. Not yet.”
    When he reached the end of the porch, he leaned his cane against the railing and shuffled himself in a half circle until he was facing Winnie and Bridget. “Now that you mention this rigor mortis thing, I saw something strange yesterday afternoon. Before you came home from work, Winnie.”
    â€œOh, Parker, please,” Bridget moaned, dropping her head into her hand. “This is not time for one of your silly little stories or jokes.”
    A flash of something resembling hurt zipped across Parker’s face just before he locked glances with Winnie. “What is it, Mr. Nelson?” she asked, over a second, louder moan from Bridget.
    â€œI was here on the porch, sitting in that seat you’re sitting in right now.”
    â€œOkay . . .” she prompted, waiting.
    Bridget looked from Winnie to Mr. Nelson and back again, her exasperation at an all-time high. “Why are you humoring him, dear? You know this is going to end up in one of his ridiculous little jokes that aren’t the slightest bit funny.”
    Winnie stood and joined her housemate next to the railing. “Go on, Mr. Nelson.”
    â€œThe school bus stopped at the end of the road just like always. And just like always, I watched Sissy meet Ava outside the bus and walk with her down the street.”
    Lovey wound her way around Mr. Nelson’s legs . . . the cane . . . the legs of just about every chair on the porch . . . and then looked up at Winnie and hissed. This time, though, Winnie gave the exchange only a passing notice as she waited for her friend to continue.
    â€œWhen they got to right there”—Mr. Nelson pointed to the street between their home and Bart’s—“Sissy whispered something in Ava’s ear, and Ava ran right through Bart’s flower bed, trampling everything in sight. See?”
    Winnie’s gaze traveled beyond the road to the flower bed that encircled Bart’s mailbox. Sure enough, all