Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) by Jeanne Glidewell Read Free Book Online Page A

camp! I'd have to set my alarm for five-thirty
     to be dressed and down in the kitchen by six. I didn't get up at five-thirty even
     if Ed McMahon and the prize patrol were at my front door, and much less for breakfast.
    "Horseshit," Sinbad squawked. He'd taken the words right out of my mouth.
    "Sure, Harriet. No problem," I said. I couldn't hurt this nice lady's feelings. She'd
     already wasted one breakfast on me. I told myself that tomorrow I'd have my lazy butt
     down at the kitchen table at six sharp.
    "Sit down, girl," Harriet commanded. "I'll have yer plate ready in a jiff. Ya like
     poached eggs on toast, don't ya?"
    I could barely stomach poached eggs. I liked eggs cooked over hard or not at all.
     But Harriet had already scrapped one meal because of me. I didn't feel like I could
     be choosy at that point, and I had no desire to look like a prima donna in her eyes.
     I felt I could tolerate runny eggs for one meal. If I could get Harriet's coffee down,
     I could suffer through anything. "Love them, Harriet. Thanks."
    "Just be a sec."
    "No hurry. Has everyone else eaten?"
    "There ain't no one else, sweetie. This time of year is usually perty slow. You be
     my only lodger right now."
    "Oh, I see. Well I love it here, and I'm so thankful I found your place on the Internet."
     It was the truth, although I was beginning to have second thoughts.
    "Yeah, me too. Like I say befer, business been perty slow. My son set that 'puter
     deal up. Me, I don't do 'puters. Figure you can't teach an old dog new tricks," Harriet
     said, as she set a plate down in front of me. There was enough toast and runny eggs
     on the plate to feed a lumberjack, and I wasn't sure I could even get half of it down.
     "Chow down, sweetie. Time's a'wasting."
    I reluctantly shoveled spoonfuls of half-raw eggs mixed with soggy toast into my mouth,
     knowing I was going to have to eat it all or be severely scolded for wasting perfectly
     good food. At least I would save money on meals while I was here. I wouldn't be hungry
     again until suppertime. If I ate like this all the time, I'd have to make room in
     my closet for an extra-large wardrobe.
    I noticed that Harriet was watching me intently, apparently waiting for my evaluation
     of her cooking.
    "This is wonderful, Harriet. Thanks."
    "Ya like it, huh?"
    "Yes, I sure do."
    "Ya like it a lot?" Harriet asked, for more clarification.
    "Oh yes, it's delicious." Please, Lord, don't let me upchuck on Harriet's table.
    "Good, that's good. Ya want some peaches with that? They needs to be ate befer they
     go bad," Harriet offered.
    Befer they go bad? As good as that sounds, no thanks. No way, Jose. That's where I
     draw the line. Poached eggs are one thing, but nothing on the verge of "going bad"
     is going to cross these lips.
    "Oh, no Harriet, I couldn't," I said. "There's more on my plate now than I can handle.
     It's wonderful, but I've got to watch my weight, you know."
    She eyed my thighs for a second and replied, "Yes, I guess yer right." Oh my, that
     one hurt. Harriet shook her head as if she'd just spied a woman at her kitchen table
     the size of a beached whale. I decided at that very moment that those pesky ten extra
     pounds would have to be dealt with in the near future. I started to push my half-finished
     plate away and grimaced as Harriet continued, "Oh well, them eggs won't hurt ya none,
     so after ya clean yer plate, we'll sit out on the porch with our coffee, and I'll
     tell ya what I know 'bout that little gal that got whacked by her old man."
    * * *
    There was a covered porch off the kitchen in the rear of the little inn that overlooked
     the most chaotic flower garden I'd ever seen. There were at least a hundred different
     kinds of flowers growing and scattered haphazardly about the backyard. It looked as
     if the entire area had been tilled and a hundred bags of mixed seeds broadcast from
     a hovering helicopter. There was a riot of color, but somehow it all resulted in a
     very soothing