Death RetiresA Death Retired Mystery
Cate Lawley
Copyright © 2017 Catherine G. Cobb
All rights reserved.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Also by Cate Lawley
About the Author
1
Sunday morning, late August
“Hello!” The feminine voice was attached to an even more womanly figure approaching from across the street.
My new four-foot, rose-draped fence seemed woefully inadequate as I crouched behind it.
“Mr. Todd!”
I lowered my head and busied myself removing the dried petals of the dead flower. Pinching away, I tried to remember the name as my curvy neighbor approached. Red cascade. The realtor had said when I’d viewed the house.
The previous owners had trained the stems upward and the bloom-filled vines now flowed down the square-mesh fencing. But they didn’t flow quite enough, because she, the woman of the curves, kept calling.
“Yoo-hoo! Mr. Todd!”
A flash of bright pink peeked through the vines. My thorny wall had too many holes.
“Mr. Todd?” she called again, closer now.
A weedy patch caught my eye, and I turned my attention to yanking the stubborn intruders out by the root. As I worked at the soil, I considered my fencing predicament. Perhaps a ten-foot, solid-metal fence sent the wrong message to the neighbors. Perhaps I didn’t care.
“Hi!” the woman called from much, much too close. I could even smell her over the scent of freshly-turned earth. She had a baked-cookie scent that made my mouth water.
Looking up, I found my neighbor peering down at me from across the fence. With her pink sundress and her dark hair all twisted up, I couldn’t tell if she’d spent five minutes on her toilette or an hour. Naturally gorgeous or made up to look it, I didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.
That’s her. She’s the one. Hey, buddy, that’s her!
The voice in my head I could ignore, but with the woman looking right at me, it would be more difficult.
“Morning.” Against all my inclinations, I didn’t stand, clinging to some hope that my rudeness would shorten the interaction. People were difficult, and I needed a little more practice before I jumped fully into the world of small talk and social repartee.
“I’m Sylvie Baker, your neighbor.” She gave me an expectant smile. When I remained silent, she pointed to a house kitty-corner to mine. “Just there. That’s me.”
Of course it was. I already knew that, because the persistent voice in my head had told me as much.
The neighborhood was gentrifying—short-term renters were giving way to owners—and some of my new neighbors were interested in building a “community.” I’d known that when I bought the house—and I’d bought it anyway.
If I’d known about the house kitty-corner and it’s occupant, I might have reconsidered.
“Geoff Todd. Just moved in.” I remained firmly crouched behind my fence.
She didn’t take the hint. Worse, she smiled brightly. “I know. It’s a small, chatty neighborhood, and we like to keep each other up-to-date. It’s nice to meet you, Geoff.”
And like that, we were on a first-name basis.
Geoffy. Geoffy-Geoffy-Geoff.
I ignored the singsong voice and turned back to my stubborn weed. With a vicious yank, it came loose and I chucked it over my shoulder.
Unfortunately, my behavior didn’t dissuade Sylvie Baker one iota. She just leaned on the fence rail, mindful of the thorns, and asked, “What brings you to the neighborhood, Geoff? Are you new to Austin?”
“No, I retired recently. Wanted to downsize.”
“Well, aren’t you the lucky one.” She flashed another smile, this time revealing a fetching dimple. “And young enough to enjoy it.”
Since I was starting to ache from all the avoidance weeding, I stood up. My right knee caught for a split second and then let out a loud pop. That was something I’d have to get used to.
The few remaining weeds beckoned. I considered them, then my knees, then glanced up to see if she’d taken the hint and left.
No, still here.
Eye contact was a mistake, because Sylvie immediately let loose with her next volley. “What was your profession? Before you retired, I mean. I do hair.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’d be happy to give you a discount. You could do with a trim.”
My eyebrows climbed. “Could I?”
“Unless you’re going for that disheveled, absent-minded professor look.” Her brown eyes assessed my stubbly cheeks, faded jeans, and dark T-shirt in one sweeping glance. “You’ve got that down.”
Since I didn’t know that was a look or whether it was a desirable one, I refrained from comment.
“What was it you said you did before you retired?”
I hadn’t said. When filling out my retirement packet, I’d gone with what I’d deemed an innocuous profession. Within days, I’d acquired a new past, manufactured to spec. One I’d spent a good amount of time learning. “Teacher. I was a teacher.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
I ignored the voice.
“A retired teacher.” She flashed me that dimpled smile again, like I’d said something both amusing and worthy. “I’m so glad that you’ve joined the neighborhood, Geoff. Welcome.”
An uneasy feeling grabbed me right in the gut. The house had felt right, and the quiet neighborhood had felt welcoming on a level I hadn’t understood nor bothered to plumb. But now, with an inescapable voice in my head and my persistent, mouthwatering neighbor standing so near, I couldn’t help questioning whether settling into this particular corner of Austin had been the best choice.
Teacher? You? Liar, liar. Shame.
Perhaps questioning the choice was too mild. I was doubting my sanity, both in making this choice and in choosing to stay.
“Ah, thanks.” I paused, then added, “Sylvie.”
The voice howled victoriously in my ear.
2
Geoff. Geoffy-Geoff. You have ears. You hear me.
“You need to get rid of that guy. He’s seriously cramping my style.” The bobcat’s mouth
