“The detective, the collection of suspects, the housekeeper wringing her hands on her apron, the fire burning cheerfully in the fireplace, comfortable armchairs, Christmas decorations and a festive tree, outside lights shining on fat snowflakes. The maid bringing in a tray with teapot, cups, milk and sugar, and a plate of cookies. Although in the stories the maid didn’t drop the tray onto the table so hard the mugs jumped, collapse into a vacant chair, and say, “I hope, Sergeant Winters, that yo...u are not using the excuse of being called to a crime scene to interrogate these people.” He took a star-shaped cookie sprinkled with red sugar. “Coincidences happen, Lucky. I was headed this way when the request for an officer came over the radio. So I took it. As for interrogating anyone, that’s a harsh word for a simple detective asking questions about the death of two men known to these people. If you, Lucky, would prefer not to be interrogated, you’re free to leave.” Ellie Carmine reached over and patted her friend’s knee.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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