Page 36 of Murder on the Page

She’d parked her MINI Clubman, a black-and-white version that suited her, in the driveway.

“You added a new sticker,” I said.

“Yep.” The rear bumper was plastered with clever sayings she’d purchased online, likeOnly ugly people tailgateandI brake for goth girls.The newest read:Equality is not rocket science.“Auntie always told me to make a statement, so I do.”

“Where are we going?” I buckled my seat belt.

“To my aunt’s neighborhood. I want to see for myself what Celia Harrigan saw.”

Marigold had lived in a charming home on Oak Knoll Lane, north of Main Street. Most of the houses in the area were Queen Anne style architecture. Many boasted wraparound porches and steeply pitched roofs. Marigold’s was a simple pale blue with white trim.

“That’s Graham’s house.” Tegan parked and pointed across the street.

It was anything but subtle. Though it was white, the trim was a mishmash of pink, blue, lavender, and yellow. The steps leading to the front door were painted a bright bold coral.

“He once told Auntie that he finds color stimulating. His store, GamePlay, is painted ten different colors.”

Each to their own,I mused.

“Look!” Tegan exclaimed. “There’s the letter carrier. Let’s ask him if he’s noticed anything weird lately. In particular, a week ago Saturday.” She bounded from her car.

The letter carrier, an older guy with a weathered face and thinning hair, was on foot, a mailbag slung across his hefty torso. His truck was parked at the far end of the street.

“Sir!” Tegan waved as she approached. “Do you have a minute?”

“You bet I do.” He grinned. “Wait a sec. I’ve seen you around here. You’re Marigold’s niece.”

“That’s right.”

“Aw, what a shame. I liked her a lot. She was good to everyone except—” He balked. “Nope. Nope. I won’t speak out of turn.”

Tegan exchanged a look with me and refocused on the man. “C’mon, who wasn’t she good to? You can tell us.”

He shifted feet. “Well, see, it was Graham Wynn who was the object of your aunt’s disapproval. Why, the other day, shewas going at him something fierce. Finger wagging. Stomping her foot.”

I couldn’t see Marigold ever stomping her foot, but if she was having a heated argument, she might have. She’d told Tegan she hoped Graham would get his act together. “What did they argue about?” I asked. “Did she accuse him of spying on her?”

“Don’t know.”

“Did he throw loud parties? Did he use the wrong color palette for his house? Did he leave his trash cans by the curb too long?” I had a neighbor who despised when people did that, claiming it made the neighborhood look bad.

“I was too far away to overhear.”

“Could she have been upset about the loiterer?” Tegan asked.

“What loiterer?”

“Celia Harrigan saw someone in a hoodie hanging around Graham Wynn’s house a week ago Saturday. She thought the person might have been staking out my aunt’s place.”

“Haven’t seen anyone in a hoodie.” He scratched his stubbly chin. “But I’ve got a regular schedule. If Celia Harrigan saw someone before or after my shift, I could’ve missed them. Why don’t you ask her? Celia!” He waved to a woman strolling down the street. There were no sidewalks, just gravelly dirt berms that could make walking on them treacherous. “Hiya, Celia.” He winked at us. “We all go by first names around here.” He raised his hand in greeting again. “Ma’am, these young ladies have a question for you.” He bid us good day and proceeded on his route.

Celia Harrigan, a full-figured woman in a knee-length coat and exquisite boots, reminded me of Darcy’s pompous aunt inPride and Prejudice.Lifting her chin, she approached us with a skeptical gaze. “Who are you, and what is your need of me?” Even the tone of her voice matched what I thought Lady Catherine would sound like.

Tegan explained our purpose.

“That’s correct. The person had on a gray hoodie,” Celia replied. “Whoever it was also wore nondescript boots. You know the kind. Unisex, I think they’re called.” She sounded dismissive of the term. “However, I can’t affirm that the person was watching your aunt’s house. It was a supposition. Perhaps the individual was checking out the street action before sneaking to the rear of Graham’s house.”

“Why would you presume that?” I asked.

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