Free Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4) by Maggie Pill Page B

rest of the house, which was cute in the same old-fashioned way my parents’ home was. The most heart-wrenching part was Clara’s bedroom. Half of the space in the walk-in closet was dedicated to what I guessed had been George’s favorite outfit: a plaid flannel shirt, a pair of bib overalls, and some beat-up brown boots. I understood completely. I kept some things of Don’s, too. There’s comfort in seeing them, touching them, smelling them from time to time.
    When I finished looking through Clara’s house, I locked the door and put the key back where I’d found it. Nothing I’d seen indicated the owner was failing mentally. The dishes were neatly stacked in the cupboard. The laundry had been kept up. Even the film of dust I found on the furniture was minimal, easily the collection of the week or so she’d been gone. Clara had not neglected her housework or her outside chores. A point in her favor—and Faye’s.
    Dusting off my hands, I called to Styx, who was still swimming after the ducks and biting at the water. He didn’t obey, even after several commands, so I finally got a treat from the bag I keep in the glove compartment of the Acadia. That brought him to shore. Once he swallowed his treat, Styx shook himself off (I stayed well back). Then I dried him off with one blanket and opened the back door so he could lie (or lay , since Barbara wasn’t around) on the other, which I’d spread on the seat. He stayed there all of twenty seconds before joining me in the front. Styx’s size made squeezing between the seats quite an adventure, but he was determined.
    “You smell like a wet dog,” I told him in mock disgust as he settled his big butt on the passenger seat. Completely getting the joke, he grinned at me and leaned against my shoulder, dampening my shirt.
    Leaving Clara’s property, I turned to the left, heading for the Clausen place. “If we’re expIoring, we might as well do the whole lake,” I told Styx, who seemed completely agreeable to the idea.
    The for sale sign was gone. I made a mental note to ask Faye to find out who’d bought the property. The place was as junky as I remembered, but I decided to look around, thinking there might be attractions that weren’t obvious at a glance.
    When I opened the car door, I wasn’t quick enough. Seeing the lake ahead, Styx pushed his way out and bounded toward it before I could stop him. Huffing joyously, he plunged into the water again. Sighing deeply, I told myself it wouldn’t take that long to dry him off a second time. In the meantime, I turned to satisfying the curiosity that had brought me there.
    The house was in bad shape. Peering through the windows, I saw nothing of interest inside, no antique woodwork or salvageable items. A few battered pieces of furniture stood abandoned along the walls. Years of visits from squirrels and bugs had rendered them useless. The piles of junk around the exterior were just that—junk. As I circled the yard I saw more piles in the woods: tin cans and bottles, rusty appliances, and even a tractor with no tires or steering wheel. If someone planned to make a resort out here, he—or she—had a lot of cleanup to do before starting construction.
    Finishing my circuit of the yard, I went down to the lake, where Styx was emerging from the water. I stepped back for a second, letting him do the shake thing once and then again. He ran toward me, still dripping, and I spoke firmly. “Styx. Do not jump. No!”
    He jumped, of course, knocking me backward a few steps, then set his front paws on my shoulders, his way of letting me know how much he loved me for bringing him out there. “I know, Baby. It’s a really nice lake, isn’t it?”
    Unable to answer verbally, Styx gave me a wet kiss and waited for me to scratch his ears. When I’d done that, he slid his feet down my front, muddying my shirt and jeans all the way, and wagged at me. Notice I didn’t say he wagged his tail. Styx wags his whole body.
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