Seeing Red

by Dana Dratch

  Still, when love-sick Lydia heard about the corpse, my money was on her showing up with a shovel and a can-do attitude.

  “The craftsmen actually stumbled upon it,” Ian continued. “Almost literally. I’ll alert the proper authorities, of course. But I felt it was only cricket to tell you first. A bit of a heads-up, so to speak.”

  That phone call would bring a swarm of cop cars, a crime scene van or two and—last but not least—a hearse from the coroner’s office. Along with a few news crews. And every neighbor within walking distance. The town gossip mill would ratchet into overdrive.

  Not exactly a good ad for his pricey B&B.

  Still, with Nick operating—temporarily—out of the inn’s kitchen, it was genuinely kind of the guy to let me know. At least I wouldn’t see the ruckus and assume the worst.

  “Well, thanks for cluing me in,” I said, standing.

  “I’d love to hear what the police discover.”

  Oddly, Ian didn’t budge from his seat.

  “You need to sit down,” he said softly.

  I started to protest. The look on his face stopped me. His blue eyes were dark. But his expression wasn’t anger. It was concern. I sank into the chair.

  “The tunnel?” Ian started. “It leads to your house. Living room or kitchen would be my best guess. The body is on your property.”