Malice in Morro Bay: Catherine Mayfield Mysteries

Morro Bay, California 1948

Her mother always said that it was a sin to tell a lie.  But then, she’d never eaten Amelia Allen’s cookies.

Dread swept over Catherine Mayfield as she stepped out of her house, her little black man-dog Henry trotting along beside her, eager to take his own constitutional.  The morning was clear and bright, unexpected for Morro Bay.  The seaside town was in a low spot that turned days overcast and foggy.

Amelia was already hurrying to the picket fence that separated their yards, her white hair gleaming in the sunlight.  She was dressed in a plaid shirtwaist dress belted over a little potbelly.  A basket covered by a red gingham napkin hung from one arm.

Catherine! she called, her voice wavering.  Catherine, dear.

Had she been waiting for the door to slam?

Feeling faintly uneasy, Catherine stooped to pat Henry.  As always, he was a good dog, giving her fingertips a warm flick of his pink tongue.

She knew about the fights next door, bad enough that she had moved into the back bedroom.  She told herself it was just the loudness, but the truth was she didn’t want to pry accidentally.  Would she and Raymond have been like that if he hadn’t been killed during the War?  He’d bought the white clapboard house in Morro Bay so he could retire here and smell the sea every day.

Today would have been their twenty-fifth anniversary.

Pain bloomed in her heart again at the loss, but this time it was