Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) Read Online Free Page A

picking a fight.
    ‘Leslie will make an excuse to run upstairs to talk to Lyssa, then come down screaming that she’s been murdered. Got it?’
    She consulted her copious notes, making sure that nothing had been left out.
    ‘And don’t stress, folks. This is about as casual as it gets.’
    ‘Miss Bea?’ One of the cowboy trio raised his hand as if he was in school. ‘Who is the killer?’
    Miss Bea stared at him as if he had sprouted horns and a tail, then burst out laughing. ‘I clean forgot that part! Quick, someone – who should it be?’
    ‘I could do it,’ offered LJ quietly. I looked at him with my mouth wide open. I had no idea he had it in him.
    ‘OK. This is what we’ll do: when the three amigos leave, you stand up from the piano and say something about needing a break. You then tell Miss Jo that you have to run upstairs for a moment. You stay gone for about two minutes. After that, Leslie will go upstairs and ‘discover’ the body. I think that after Lyssa screams about you being crazy,’ – she jabbed her forefinger into the leather-clad chest of the first cowboy – ‘most people will have you pegged as the murderer. If not, and it’s too easy, we’ll change it up for our next gig. OK, if that’s all, let’s get a move on.’
    Dear reader, I had an absolute blast that first performance, miscues and all. I was transformed totally into Miss Jo, saloon owner and peacekeeper. The audience was appreciative of our efforts, although I suspect that they ‘solved’ the murder very quickly. The local talent took many curtain calls, bowing to uproarious applause.
    Miss Bea got the biggest recognition of all, as well she should. Her beaming face and waving hair included everyone in her smile. I was so happy for her, this woman whose dream was to direct a great masterpiece of the stage.
    If this was what it was like to be an actress, I was hooked.
    The ride back to our house was punctuated with laughter and joking comments directed at the way that Derek twirled his towel and Leslie teetered around the stage on high heels. LJ’s face blushed when I mentioned his choice of entrance song, “Happy Birthday to You”. I laughed outright when Derek reminded me of my Louisiana accent that had crept unawares back into my speech.
    ‘You sounded like “Daisy Mae Meets the Wild West”,’ he hooted, and I had to agree. I would have to work harder on my Western dialogue.
    Miss Bea drove silently, a quiet smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. She was tired, but we all were. I mentally predicted a quick bedtime and a long snooze for one and all.
    I was wrong.
    It was sometime after one in the morning that I was awakened by a dull thump and the sound of something rolling across the floor below. I lay completely still, listening as hard as I could. Had the field mice joined forces and invaded? I sincerely hoped not. One mouse was one too many as far as I was concerned.
    No one else seemed to have heard it. I could detect no sounds of footsteps or doors opening, so I cautiously leaned across to the lamp that sat on my bedside and pulled the little chain that hung down from its bulb. The click of the light coming on seemed extra loud, so I waited, frozen, straining to hear noises from downstairs.
    A discomforting thought flashed into my mind: why hadn’t Miss Bea heard it? Or was it she that I was hearing? Or – I crossed my fingers – only someone up and getting a drink of water from the kitchen?
    Or, heaven forbid, it was an intruder.
    I made up my mind. Swinging my legs off the bed and fishing under my pillow for my slippers, I opened my bedroom door as softly as possible. Pausing on the landing, I began to tiptoe down the stairs, sending up a silent prayer that I would miss the squeaky step that was second from the bottom. Or was it the third?
    It was the third.
    The wooden shriek that it emitted when I put my full weight on it was loud enough to wake the dead. I could hear doors popping open all over