Free Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) by Marilyn Levinson Page A

their heavenly scent as I walked the short distance to Allistair’s home.
    He waited for me at the end of his driveway dressed in Bermuda shorts, a navy polo shirt and sandals. He kissed my cheek, then took the flowers and drank in their aroma. “Ah, lilacs. One of my favorites.”
    I grinned. Coming from another man, his behavior would have had me wondering about his sexual orientation.
    “Shall we?" With a sweep of his arm, Allistair ushered me up the driveway and welcomed me into his home.
    The living room/dining room area was airy and light like Sylvia’s, but built on a smaller scale. Trees and bushes grew outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, giving one the sense of being inside a forest. Bold fabric hangings set off stark-white walls. The Scandinavian furniture had clean, simple lines. Allistair smiled as I took it all in.
    “Like it?” he asked.
    “Very much. Spare but comfortable." I laughed. “Not like the clutter I create, given the slightest opportunity.”
    I followed him into the kitchen and admired the state-of-the-art appliances, white wooden cabinets, and copper-colored granite counters. He removed a pitcher from the refrigerator and snagged two glasses with his other hand.
    “Pomegranate martinis." He jutted his chin toward a tray holding two dips and chips on the counter. “Would you be so kind as to grab that? I thought we’d enjoy the good weather.”
    He opened the sliding door. Outside, I paused at one of the outdoor tables, but Allistair continued across the deck and down three steps to the terrace below. I was suddenly surrounded by giant bamboo plants and a pond of koi fish that transported me to another world. The sound of running water drew my attention to a fountain consisting of three flat stones, each on a different level.
    I sat at the small wrought iron table and sighed. “This is heaven.”
    “My bit of it, anyway." He filled the glasses and handed me one. “Cheers.”
    “ L’chaim .”
    We clinked glasses and sipped. “Perfect,” I murmured.
    He winked. “We aim to please.”
    I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Though I hardly knew Allistair, I felt no need to chatter or make idle conversation. I closed my eyes. A minute or so passed. “This is the most serene I’ve been in weeks. Make it this past year.”
    Allistair nodded. “The house has that affect. My wife would have loved living here. I lost Melody four years ago. Lung cancer.”
    So Rosie had told me when I’d mentioned meeting Allistair. “I’m sorry.”
    “Me, too. Now she’s at peace.”
    We sat in silence lost in our own musings, and for once my mind was at rest. I was content to sip my drink and absorb the peace and tranquility of the scene, observing how the breeze blew my hair about my face.
    I gave a start when Allistair asked if I’d like a refill.
    “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?” I laughed. From where I sat, the world was a beautiful place.
    He asked if I knew other people besides Sylvia in Old Cadfield, and I told him about Rosie’s invitation to lead the mystery book club, my initial reluctance, then how happy I’d been to do it until Sylvia was murdered.
    Another delicate subject, one that Allistair sensed I’d had my fill of. He talked about his two daughters: Davida, who was studying art in Paris, and Tessa, who lived in Manhattan with her husband and their pug.
    I told him about Jesse's becoming a musician like his father. The breeze grew stronger, and he caught me shivering. “Be right back,” he said, darting up from his chair. He returned a minute later with a light blanket, which he placed around my shoulders.
    “So, tell me about yourself, Lexie Driscoll.”
    I smiled. “I thought I’d been doing that.”
    “I’d rather hear the unedited version."
    I gave a little laugh. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
    He gave me a level look. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m fifty-seven. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that life is short.”
    I drew a breath and began.