Free The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) by Victoria Abbott Page A

prosperous town, but every town has its seedy side and Willows Road seemed to be part of that. It was the closest thing to a row of tenements we had. I couldn’t imagine that there had ever been any willows. The “road” was narrow with no parking and shabby houses that came right up to the edge of the street. No gardens for this area. Not even a scrap of lawn. Every unit had peeling paint and most of the front steps had rotten boards I thought were ready to collapse. More than one window was boarded up. I saw no sign of life. Number 10B looked as though it would tumble to the ground if you blew on it. A half-starved feral cat scurried past.
    I shivered.
    Somewhere, someone had been cooking cabbage, and most people hadn’t picked up their garbage. A feeling of hopelessness hung in the air, as palpable as the odor of bad food. Whatever else I knew about Carmen and Muriel Delgado, their life couldn’t have been easy in the early days.
    I knocked on every door, but although I could clearly hear television sets booming behind those doors, no one answered.
    I tried not to be too discouraged. I figured I might find some answers on Maple Street. The wind picked up, pierced through the weave of my coat and reawakened that shiver, or maybe it was my Spidey Sense telling me to be wary. I scurried quickly to the Accord and drove back to see the Snows.
    Here I got a bit lucky. The Snows, as Audra had mentioned, were indeed home. I parked midway between the two houses thinking I might like to say hello to Audra first and thank her for her call. I knocked on the door but got no answer. The stroller was gone so I figured she was off for a little ramble with the children. I headed for the house three doors down, getting into my legal assistant mode. Shortly after, Clarissa Montaine of Lawson and Loblaw walked up their immaculate front path and glanced with approval at the flags flapping in the breeze, the freshly painted yellow front door and shutters and the artfully displayed pumpkins with the cute wooden turkey (cuter than the real ones for sure) and the lovely sheaf of dried corn on the wall behind the display. I also admired the attractive wreath with fall leaves that decorated the yellow door. A tantalizing aroma was drifting from the slightly opened window to the left.
    A row of burlap leaf bags sat in a precise row by the side of the road. The lawn was leaf-free. This did not come as a surprise.
    When the door swung open, I held out my hand and introduced myself. Turned out their names were Tom and Mindy and please don’t call them Mr. and Mrs. Snow, and don’t blame this weather on them either. They were both round, white-haired and pink-cheeked. Behind their bifocals, their eyes twinkled. Hers were sharp and blue, his were warm brown. They had finished unpacking their groceries and were sitting down to a cup of hot tea and some cinnamon buns. The cinnamon buns must have been the source of the tantalizing aroma. Up close, I upgraded the scent of the fresh baking from tantalizing to intoxicating. I had already mentioned the law firm of Lawson and Loblaw, but I got the feeling that they would have been glad to see me no matter who I was.
    “Mindy made these buns herself,” the husband told me, ignoring the talk of law firms. “They can’t be beat. Come in and have one with us. If we eat them all, we might put on some weight.” He patted his belly, indicating that he’d consumed a few cinnamon buns in his time.
    No one needed to ask me twice. I wasn’t afraid to take sticky buns from strangers.
    “Sure thing.”
    I joined them in the small, cozy kitchen and squeezed into the corner bench at the compact pine table. A border of candy-colored hearts topped the walls and ran above the yellow painted cupboards. I found myself grinning. These people were so cute. I never knew my grandparents on either the Kelly or the Bingham side, but “Call me Tom” and “Call me Mindy” were like the perfect fantasy grandparents. With my