Bertie sipped her tea. “Mmm. Raspberry. With a hint of murder.”
A scream echoed from Lot 6B.
She calmly adjusted her cardigan, picked up her notepad, and headed out the door.
By the time she arrived, the neighbors were gathered. A flaming lawn flamingo smoldered near a flower bed.
The park manager ran up. “Bertie! It’s happened again!”
She sighed. “Start making the tea, love. And tell Margaret to stop moving the evidence with her shoe.”
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