Free Death Dangles a Participle (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series) by E. E. Kennedy

sporadically dated a variety of girls, but nobody in particular. I was new to the in loco parentis business. Should I ask him about this, or leave it alone? Would he need a woman’s advice or would I be interfering? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
    It certainly seemed hot. A wave of nausea had begun at the pit of my stomach and was gurgling upward. I drew shakily to my feet and headed for the door, waving vaguely at the busy Fleur. “Getting a breath of fresh . . . fresh . . . ” I pulled opened the door and drew deeply of the ice-cold oxygen.
    It had started to snow. Tiny dancing flakes, few and far between.
    I closed the door behind me and sat heavily on the outdoor bench. The air was the kind that frosted the insides of your nostrils, but it felt like bracing medicine at this moment. I bent forward, because it seemed the thing to do.
    Whew, that was a near thing, I thought.
    The noxious exhaust of a car floated my way and I had another bad moment; then there was the slam of a car door followed by quick, heavy footsteps.
    “Amelia? You okay?” It was Vern; I could tell by the giant sneakers that came into my line of vision.
    “Just a little woozy. Something I ate, probably.” I sat up, looked into his dear, concerned face and felt better.
    The office door opened. “Gee whiz, Miss Prentice, I’m sorry. I was busy on the phone just now. You feel faint? You want a coke or something? I’ll get you one from the machine. Mrs. Dickensen, I mean.”
    Summoning up every ounce of my spare strength, I requested she call me Amelia and assured them both that all I needed was to get home.
    “You go see the doctor, okay?” Fleur requested as I hastily gathered my black leather satchel from the plastic-coated sofa, holding my breath the whole time. “It’s flu season. He’ll give you a shot or something.”
    I nodded.
    “She’s right,” Vern added his two cents once we were in the car. “You need to get that checked out. It could be serious.”
    “I feel better already.” I tilted my head back, closed my eyes and decided to change the subject. “Who’s the new girl?”
    There was a moment of silence, then, “What?”
    I kept my eyes shut. “Fleur mentioned you were seeing a lot of one particular girl.”
    Vern shifted gears. “Well, I guess you could say Melody Branch and I are kind of dating.”
    I opened my eyes. “Melody? What a pretty name. Where did you meet her?”
    “In one of my classes at school.”
    “Is she nice?”
    “Amelia, that’s about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Of course she’s nice.”
    “And pretty?”
    “No, she’s hideous. Look, don’t get any ideas. She’s just a girl, okay? No big deal.” Vern navigated a tricky left turn. “I heard about J.T. and Dustin getting busted. Did you see it happen? What’s going on?”
    “I saw them being arrested, if that’s what you mean. Vern, Gil says they’re accused of murder.”
    “Golly!” Vern’s eyes widened. “Oh, gee!” He ran his hand over his severely shorn head. He did look more mature this way. “I mean, gee whiz, they’re no angels, everybody knows that, but murder? How did they say it happened?”
    “I don’t have details. Gil said he’d tell us when we get h—”
    The short whoop of a police siren and flashing lights interrupted my sentence.
    Vern glanced over his shoulder. “What the—”
    A squad car was directly behind us.
    “Vern, how fast were you going?”
    “Slower ’n Christmas,” he mumbled, pulling over to the curb. “I always do when Mrs. Magoo’s in the car.” It was a slightly derogatory pet name he’d given me, a comment on my studied, myopic driving style.
    Vern slumped in his seat and pulled his wallet from a hip pocket. By the time he was ready with his ID, the officer had arrived at Vern’s window.
    “Vern Thomas?”
    Vern went dead pale and held up his license. “Yes, sir.”
    “Don’t need to see that. We just want to ask you a few questions. Would you mind