Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance

Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance by Amy Patricia Meade Read Free Book Online

Book: Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance by Amy Patricia Meade Read Free Book Online
Authors: Amy Patricia Meade
Tags: Mystery: Cozy - Mystery Writer - Connecticut - 1935
business,” Dr. Heller explained.
    “Humph,” Robert snorted. “You don’t know Marjorie.”
    “Tenacious, is she?”

    “Let’s just say that only passing acquaintances address her as
Miss McClelland. In more intimate circles, she’s better known as
Miss Never-Say-Die”
    Marjorie, satisfied with her new sobriquet, smiled beatifically.
    “Soon to be `Mrs’ Never-Say-Die,” Heller prompted.
    “Don’t remind me,” Jameson quipped.
    Marjorie’s smile dissipated, replaced by a visage of utter indignation. Like a jungle cat preparing to pounce, she raised a hand to
claw the sheet in front of her and opened her jaw wide as though
to emit a mighty roar. Creighton grabbed the young woman by the
waist and clamped a hand over her mouth.
    “Second thoughts?” the doctor asked.
    “No,” he answered decisively. “No second thoughts. Marjorie’s
absolutely wonderful. The most beautiful woman in the world.”
    Marjorie’s body relaxed, and Creighton loosened his grip on her.
    “It’s just that sometimes I wish she were more like other girls.
You know, content to sit home with her knitting and sewing. A
    “A homebody? Not that one,” Heller laughed. “Not with her green
eyes and her temper. No sirree, she’s a sharpie if I ever met one.”
    “Yes,” Jameson agreed with pride in his voice. “Yes, she is.”
    Creighton completely relinquished his hold on the young woman
and let his arms drop to his sides. Up until now, he had viewed
Jameson as an emotional nonentity. This sentimental scene had put
a different spin on things. It was quite clear from the detective’s statements that he cared for Marjorie deeply: a fact that made Creighton
feel like a heel.

    “Speaking of sharp people, you might want to put your best men
on this.” There was the crinkle of paper. “I found it in Nussbaum’s
shirt pocket.”
    “It’s all numbers,” Robert noted.
    “That’s right. A page, covered front and back with numbers, some
of them are circled but all of them are listed in seemingly random
order, and none of them are higher than 99. The only letters used are
in the signature at the end”
    “Matt,” Jameson read aloud. “Very interesting. There’s a date in
the lower left corner. `5/21.”’
    “That was three weeks ago,” Heller stated. “You think this thing
might lead us to the killer?”
    “Can’t say for sure until we decode it.”
    Creighton heard the swish of the laboratory door as it opened.
Peering through a gap in the sheet, he recognized the ruddy complexion of Officer Noonan. The policeman held the door ajar and
allowed the woman accompanying him to enter. She was a lanky
redhead in her late twenties, flashy rather than truly attractive, with
bobbed hair and scarlet painted lips and fingernails.
    “Mrs. Nussbaum, I’m detective Robert Jameson with the Hartford County Police. I’m sorry to have to put you through this, but it’s
necessary that we get a positive identification from a family member.”
    Jameson needn’t have apologized; Mrs. Nussbaum was quite blase
about the whole affair. “It’s okay. Where’s he at?”
    “This way,” the detective replied. Noonan ushered the young
widow from Creighton’s range of sight.
    When the door to the autopsy room was safely closed, Marjorie whispered to Creighton excitedly. “I only saw Mrs. Nussbaum from the rear. Did you get a good look at her? What was she like?
She sounded young. Was she young?”

    Creighton grinned at Marjorie’s zeal. “Around your age.”
    “My age? Wow, there must have been a difference of about twenty
years between her and her husband. Though I guess it’s not uncommon for a middle-aged man to marry a younger woman, especially
if she’s pretty.”
    He shook his head. “She may be pretty when she’s all dolled up,
but I’d hate to see her when she takes off that make-up. My grandfather warned me about women like that. He said, `Creighton, my
lad, before you get

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