I adore Miss Marple. She seems like a sweet, gentle old lady, but she’s bright and knows human nature. In A Caribbean Mystery, Miss Marple is on vacation, enjoying relaxing in the Caribbean sun thanks to her nephew’s generosity. There’s only one problem – she’s bored. It may be paradise, …
Mrs. McGillicuddy saw someone murdered on a train that passed the one she was on. She is positive that she saw a man strangling a woman, but after reporting it to the authorities, no body is found. No one seems to believe her, so she turns to her dear friend …
I found that I was competing against the same kids as before, which was great, because we all got to know each other, and I made some great new friends. These contest, while competitive in the water, are actually fun, happy events where winning is secondary to enjoying the surf, the beach, and all the companionship.
I don’t go to church, but I do go to the covered stalls of the farmers’ market on Saturday mornings—wildflower honey, olive oil, butter lettuce, collard greens, arugula, Swiss chard, beets, snap peas, artichokes, fava beans, haricots verts, strawberries, peaches, oranges, orchids, ranunculus, butternut squash, avocados, heirloom tomatoes, lemons, lavender, basil, thyme—a place in which I can believe. I buy eggs from Varden, a farmer from Nipomo who wears overalls and shows me pictures of hens—my girls, he calls them—and they are not in cages. He talks about his girlfriend, lends me books about soil, makes compost tea, and asks, every week, What’s for show and tell?
Her foot caught on a hook protruding from a lichen-smeared stone cheese press long ago abandoned in the grass, and she lost her balance for a second time. This time her ankle wrenched, and she sat down to massage the tender flesh. For an instant, she had an impression of a flash of light, as if the sun had glinted on a pair of field glasses.
When she picked herself up, not a soul was to be seen.
I could see some of the stage men lying dead outside, and the outlaws were pretty much in charge, but they were nervous and sweating, probably because they had lost two of their guys and weren’t sure how.
I glanced over and saw Casey, just the edge of her, taking aim but not shooting, ready to do her job and maybe waiting for me to do mine.
And it was my job to do the talking. Maybe that wasn’t what she had in mind, but we were supposed to be the good guys.