Foreclosed: A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery (A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery, a Cozy Christian Collection) by Traci Tyne Hilton Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Traci Tyne Hilton
They hadn’t had the excitement of a sale in weeks.
Ben hit print and stared out the window. A mild looking man of middle height walked past. His jacket was tan. Totally nondescript. Ben laughed at himself. He described the nondescript guy.
A teenage girl on a bike rode past without a helmet. Idiot. She’d get herself killed in this traffic.
Two old men cut through the parking lot. They would probably be headed for a bench on the river. The nondescript guy came back this way and stopped at Bean Me Up Scotty’s.
The women folk weren’t hurrying back. Ben laid the welcome home package on Mitzy’s desk for her to sign. He shuffled through the gift card drawer and pulled out a few for her to choose from. He had already ordered the flowers. He checked his watch. 10:30. Not even time for lunch yet.
Another teenager, this one on a skateboard and male, rode past.
A guy on a scooter slipped through traffic, apparently also wanting to get killed.
Another guy in a tan jacket was across the street looking in windows.
Or was it the same guy?
Maybe that’s why nondescript had come to mind earlier. He really had no idea if this was the same guy or not.
He looked out the side window…no one there. This guy entered the café, so he must not have been the same man. But then, who buys a coffee at a little hut and then goes to a café?
Ben shuffled through his desk drawer looking for something that needed to be done. Nothing came up so he opened up his games file and made ready to sweep for mines. “Kill me now,” he said aloud to himself.
The nondescript man in the tan jacket watched the tall blonde at the table with her friends. She was in profile and arguing something with energy. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took three or four pictures of the scene, then quietly entered the café. He ordered a coffee and took his seat at the table, directly behind the blond woman.
“Seriously, Joan, in what world was Clamato juice ever a good idea?” Sabrina was vehement.
“It was a different generation. They spiked it. It’s good.” Joan tried to defend her weakness for tomato and clam juice.
“Something’s fishy about Clamato juice,” Sabrina said with a straight face.
Mitzy snorted. “I bet you drink your Clamato juice with tomato aspic.”
“Give me some credit, please,” said Joan pulling a long face.
“Tomato is a fruit. Fruit Jell-O is classic.”
“With celery and olives!” Sabrina threw in.
“What was the worst food you’ve ever had at an open house?” Mitzy asked Joan.
“Oh the worst? Goodness, mostly it’s just stale cookies and burnt coffee. But once someone tried to serve homemade tiramisu at an open house. It smelled like a cheap bar in the house and the carpet was almost ruined from where bits of it dropped as people toured. It tasted good, but it was really a disaster.”
“I once showed a home right after the family had spent the day making homemade sauerkraut.” Mitzy attempted to suppress a laugh, but failed. Her head was light and everything was funny, like she had sucked on a helium balloon. She took a deep breath to pull herself together, but even that made her laugh.
Sabrina hiccoughed and her bobbed brown hair swung around her face as she rocked with laughter.
Joan leaned back in her chair and looked at them over the tops of her granny glasses. “You children need to pull yourselves together.”
Something rustled loudly behind Mitzy. She turned around and saw a large newspaper open in front of a man in khaki pants. “Sorry if we’re disturbing you.” Her voice was low and serious which sent Joan into a wheezing laugh, for reasons she couldn’t have explained.
The man lowered his newspaper and looked Mitzy up and down. “Not at all,” he said.
Mitzy thought it sounded as though he had a bit of an accent. English maybe? His paper went up with a loud rustle before she could ask him where he was from. He didn’t look foreign…or maybe
Ben hit print and stared out the window. A mild looking man of middle height walked past. His jacket was tan. Totally nondescript. Ben laughed at himself. He described the nondescript guy.
A teenage girl on a bike rode past without a helmet. Idiot. She’d get herself killed in this traffic.
Two old men cut through the parking lot. They would probably be headed for a bench on the river. The nondescript guy came back this way and stopped at Bean Me Up Scotty’s.
The women folk weren’t hurrying back. Ben laid the welcome home package on Mitzy’s desk for her to sign. He shuffled through the gift card drawer and pulled out a few for her to choose from. He had already ordered the flowers. He checked his watch. 10:30. Not even time for lunch yet.
Another teenager, this one on a skateboard and male, rode past.
A guy on a scooter slipped through traffic, apparently also wanting to get killed.
Another guy in a tan jacket was across the street looking in windows.
Or was it the same guy?
Maybe that’s why nondescript had come to mind earlier. He really had no idea if this was the same guy or not.
He looked out the side window…no one there. This guy entered the café, so he must not have been the same man. But then, who buys a coffee at a little hut and then goes to a café?
Ben shuffled through his desk drawer looking for something that needed to be done. Nothing came up so he opened up his games file and made ready to sweep for mines. “Kill me now,” he said aloud to himself.
The nondescript man in the tan jacket watched the tall blonde at the table with her friends. She was in profile and arguing something with energy. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took three or four pictures of the scene, then quietly entered the café. He ordered a coffee and took his seat at the table, directly behind the blond woman.
“Seriously, Joan, in what world was Clamato juice ever a good idea?” Sabrina was vehement.
“It was a different generation. They spiked it. It’s good.” Joan tried to defend her weakness for tomato and clam juice.
“Something’s fishy about Clamato juice,” Sabrina said with a straight face.
Mitzy snorted. “I bet you drink your Clamato juice with tomato aspic.”
“Give me some credit, please,” said Joan pulling a long face.
“Tomato is a fruit. Fruit Jell-O is classic.”
“With celery and olives!” Sabrina threw in.
“What was the worst food you’ve ever had at an open house?” Mitzy asked Joan.
“Oh the worst? Goodness, mostly it’s just stale cookies and burnt coffee. But once someone tried to serve homemade tiramisu at an open house. It smelled like a cheap bar in the house and the carpet was almost ruined from where bits of it dropped as people toured. It tasted good, but it was really a disaster.”
“I once showed a home right after the family had spent the day making homemade sauerkraut.” Mitzy attempted to suppress a laugh, but failed. Her head was light and everything was funny, like she had sucked on a helium balloon. She took a deep breath to pull herself together, but even that made her laugh.
Sabrina hiccoughed and her bobbed brown hair swung around her face as she rocked with laughter.
Joan leaned back in her chair and looked at them over the tops of her granny glasses. “You children need to pull yourselves together.”
Something rustled loudly behind Mitzy. She turned around and saw a large newspaper open in front of a man in khaki pants. “Sorry if we’re disturbing you.” Her voice was low and serious which sent Joan into a wheezing laugh, for reasons she couldn’t have explained.
The man lowered his newspaper and looked Mitzy up and down. “Not at all,” he said.
Mitzy thought it sounded as though he had a bit of an accent. English maybe? His paper went up with a loud rustle before she could ask him where he was from. He didn’t look foreign…or maybe
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