Murder in the Marigolds by Dale Mayer (good books to read for 12 year olds txt) 📗

“Thaddeus loves Doreen.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” she said, holding the cake up above her head. “You’re not getting a single crumb. Cake is bad for Thaddeus.”

“Thaddeus loves Doreen.”

“No,” she said, “you won’t get away with any of that.” She glared at the bird, as she sat down and popped a bite of cake into her mouth.

He tried one more time, looking at her with those big eyes. “Thaddeus loves Doreen.”

She shook her head, “Uh-uh, not having it, no way,” she said. “You’re not getting my cake.” She dropped her hand just to keep it away from the bird, when Mugs jumped up and took it from her fingers. “Mugs, don’t you do that,” she cried out. But he was too busy scarfing down the piece of cake and wagging his tail. She glared at the animals. Thaddeus immediately hopped to the ground, trying to get some of the crumbs out of the dirt that Mugs left. “You two are terrible!”

She groaned, got up, and walked back inside to grab more cake. When she came back outside, she heard the side gate. Figuring it was probably Mack, she called out and said, “You’re not getting any cake this morning either.”

When she heard no answer, she shrugged, sat back down again, and watched as the two animals still fought over the last little bit of crumbs. Then Mugs paid attention to the side of the house. He woofed several times, and, with his tail wagging, he took off.

“Great. Mack, you might as well come around. It’s not like Mugs greets anybody else like that,” she muttered. When there was still no sign of him, she got up and went to the corner of the house. She stepped around to the side to see Mugs going crazy over a stranger bent down over him. She stared at him in surprise.

“Mugs, come here. Come on. Get over here.” But Mugs ignored her completely. She studied the stranger, and then her heart stopped. Slowly the stranger straightened and looked over at her.

“Hello, Doreen.”

And, sure enough, it was her ex-husband.

Chapter 8

Monday Morning …

Doreen stared long and hard at her ex, her heart sinking. She barely even recognized him. He still wore the same high-end luxury suits he always wore. But he looked older, thinner on top, and maybe even a little thicker at the waistline. She frowned, as she studied the man she had spent so many years with. “Mathew?”

He gave her that lopsided grin that had endeared her to him in the first place, but she was long past immune to it now. “What are you doing here?” she asked quietly. She didn’t ask him in, as she leaned against the side of the house, trying to ignore the fact that Mugs was almost hysterical with joy at seeing him. But then that was a dog for you. They were loyal to a fault. Mathew looked down at the dog, and she watched the corner of his lip curl up.

“He looks disgusting,” Mathew stated. “When did you last have him in for a shampoo and a nail trim? He looks so disheveled.”

“Well, he looks natural,” she muttered. She didn’t want to take offense, but those visits to the grooming parlor cost hundreds of dollars. And that was food for weeks right now.

He shook his head, looked around at the house from the side yard, and said, “So this is where you landed, huh?” He shook his head again. “Unbelievable.”

“Well, when you don’t get any settlement after fourteen years of marriage,” she said, stiffening her back ever-so-slightly, “you learn to find a new perspective on your life.”

He gave a laugh. “That was my business. I built it,” he said. “Nothing for you there.”

“Why are you here?” she reiterated. She knew that Nick wouldn’t want her talking to him at all. He pushed his hands into his suit pockets. Another mannerism that he used to do all the time, and then—wait for it. And there it was—that little rock back on his heels, as if he were somebody important, waiting for the rest of the world to figure it out.

“Is it wrong that I wanted to stop in and see you?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “We haven’t had anything to do with each other since I left the house.”

“Well, you didn’t leave willingly,” he reminded her.

“No, I was kicking and screaming, as I recall,” she said, not liking the reminder. “It was my home.”

“No, it is my house,” he said, with that shark smile. And then he waved a hand. “But that’s all water under the bridge.”

“And why is that?” she asked, her fingers tapping her arms, wishing she had a way to get out of this; yet she was curious and wanted to know what he was doing here. Why here of all places, and what did it have to do with her? And did he have anything to do with Robin’s death?

“I was in town,” he said. “I just thought I’d stop and see how you were doing. Is Nan here?”

“No,” she said. “She’s at Rosemoor.”

“Ah, so she’s in the home,” he nodded, with satisfaction. “Finally. That’s where she belongs.”

Doreen gasped at that.

He shook his head. “You know she was getting loony.”

“She is my grandmother,” she said stiffly. “Nan is very well loved.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” he said. “She was off her rocker and needed more care.”

“Well, she’s fine where she is right now.”

He looked out toward Mugs, who had wandered away a bit and appeared to see Goliath for the first time. His eyes widened. “Is that a cat or a bobcat?”

“It’s Goliath,” she said. “He’s a Maine coon.”

“Another one of Nan’s lost strays?”

She winced at that because, if one of Nan’s lost strays were around, it was Doreen. “Definitely one of Nan’s pets,” she corrected. “You haven’t told me why you’re here.”

She looked around at the neighborhood to see several people