Free Murder Had a Little Lamb by Cynthia Baxter Page A

Before I knew what was happening, he had roped me into helping him.
    “At any rate,” I asked impatiently, “what are you doing here?”
    “This is actually a social call,” he replied, grinning. “I came to express my condolences—in person.”
    “Over Nathaniel?” I asked, blinking.
    “Over your wedding getting called off.”
    “Thank you—”
    “I didn’t find that out until this morning,” Forrester continued. “When you and I spoke on Saturday, I just assumed you’d finally tied the knot. Especially since you neglected to mention that you hadn’t.”
    “We
almost
tied the knot,” I said quietly.
    “But once I thought about it,” he went on, “I wasn’t all that surprised that when it came time for the Jessie Popper I know to say ‘I do,’ instead she said, ‘I don’t think so.’”
    “But—but—that’s completely wrong!” I sputtered. “I mean, that’s not at all what happened!”
    “No? You mean your wedding
didn’t
get called off at the eleventh hour?”
    “It did, but that’s not the reason!” I insisted.
    I sounded like a four-year-old, trying to convince a grown-up that she wasn’t the one who’d gobbled down all the cookies. But Forrester always had that effect on me. Not that I found him the least bit attractive. Sure, he had intense gray-blue eyes, thick blondhair that softened into curls at the back of his neck, and a definite preppy look that some women might find engaging.
    But not me.
    “For heaven’s sake, a man was murdered!”
    “I know,” he replied. “I’ve already written several articles about it, remember? But you have to admit that it was pretty convenient.” Forrester leaned against his car casually, still grinning at me in a way that made my blood boil. “For someone who was looking for an excuse not to get married, I mean.”
    My mouth dropped open so wide that a butterfly could have flown in. I quickly snapped it shut.
    “Not that this is any of your business,” I told him through gnashed teeth, “but Nathaniel Stibbins’s murder precipitated a family crisis. I can’t begin to tell you how distraught my future mother-in-law is. In fact, she wants nothing more than for this heinous crime to be solved so we can all get on with our lives—”
    “Wait a minute,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re investigating this case, aren’t you? That’s the real reason you didn’t want your name in the paper. It had nothing to do with violating your personal privacy or losing clients!”
    “Both those reasons are completely legitimate!” I protested.
    He didn’t appear to be listening. “I should have figured that out,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “After all, the guy
is
related to you.”
    “Not quite,” I corrected him. It wasn’t until I’d said those words that I realized the correct thing to have said would have been not
yet
. “But yes, you’re right. Ihave been taking a few steps to see if I can help figure out what happened. At my future-mother-in-law’s insistence.”
    “I get it,” Forrester said. “Who has time to pick out new flower arrangements when she’s investigating a murder? Of course, multitasking
is
in style. Unless, of course, there’s some relief mixed in there with all the grief …”
    “Forrester, I think you’d better leave. As in right now.”
    He laughed. “I don’t blame you for being embarrassed, Popper. Not only did you bail out of your own wedding, you didn’t even have the common decency to invite me to the ceremony. Still, I’ve decided to forgive you for your faux pas—”
    “I don’t
care
if you forgive me!” I cried. “I don’t
want
you to forgive me! I just want you to get out of here before Nick comes back and—”
    “Ah. So the lucky man, as we used to call him, isn’t home.” Forrester’s gaze shifted over my shoulder, toward my empty cottage. “You know, some people might offer an unexpected visitor a cup of coffee. Especially if that visitor took time out of