Mysteries
Meet Lewis Wilder. He thinks he’s found an uncomplicated life when he takes the job as curator of the history museum in Nolichucky, Tennessee, a tiny town snoozing in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. He’s wrong in so many ways.
"Engaging characters, fine local color, and good writing make Wilder Rumors a winner."
-- Bill Crider, author of the Sheriff Dan Rhodes Mysteries
"An intriguing debut that holds the reader's interest from start to finish."
-- Kirkus Reviews
Wilder Rumors
Five Star Mysteries
Published/Released: May 2007
$25.95
ISBN 13: 9781594145551
ISBN 10: 1594145555
Available from your local bookstore, online, or ask for it at at your public library.
You'll also find Lewis Wilder in "Wilder Dancing" in the Summer 2007 issue of Mysterical-E.
Click here to read an excerpt from Wilder Rumors.
by
Molly MacRae
Chapter 1
Lewis Wilder looked up from his bowl of chili and swore into his napkin as he wiped his mouth. Here came the third reason he wasn’t going to be enjoying his meal. At least three was a number that gave the whole evening a sense of balance. It rounded out the general tone of disaster. Presented with a fourth reason, though, he might need to call it quits. He crumpled his napkin and dropped it on the table. He watched Paul Glaser get out of the sheriff’s car he’d parked at the curb and head for the café door.
"Evening, Lewis."
"Paul."
Wilder didn’t ask Glaser to join him. Glaser smiled and slipped into the booth opposite him anyway. Wilder pushed the bowl of chili aside and waited.
"Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?" Glaser asked.
Wilder didn’t answer, instead picked up his glass of iced tea and drank.
"Well, it ain’t museum business," Glaser said, still smiling. "Or is it? Of course, you maybe already know this, but that fool who’s calling himself the Fox hit a house out near Sycamore last night. Took the portable silver. Heirloom quality, according to the receipt he left. The guy’s got a hell of an eye for good old stuff. Hell of a nerve, too. Real professional, every way you look at it. But, I gotta tell you, Lewis, he’s got us running in circles. I’m about beat."
Wilder thought about suggesting Glaser spend more time on his treadmill or at the gym. He let his eyes linger too long on Glaser’s paunch. When he met Glaser’s eyes again the smile was gone.
"What, Paul?"
"He’s been lucky so far."
"Not getting caught? Maybe he’s smart."
"Smarter than me? Pshaw. More like full of himself. No, what I’m waiting for is the unexpected, which is something I always expect. Someone’s going to walk in on him one of these times. And someone is going to get hurt. Or dead."
Wilder crushed a packet of crackers into the chili. He brushed the crumbs off his hands then met Glaser’s eyes. "What do you want me to say, Paul?"
"Where were you last night?"
"Home."
"Alone?"
"As usual. What have you heard this time?"
"Same old."
Wilder ignored his stare and looked out the window onto Main Street. What a pleasant, sleepy little town this had seemed when he arrived six months ago. Virtually snoring. He glanced back at Glaser who looked close to snarling. He bowed his head and studied the oilcloth on the table, pushed cracker crumbs around with a finger. Then he shrugged, looked Glaser in the eye again, spread his hands, and gave his best insincere smile.
"I don’t know anything about it, Paul."
"You say that every time."
"It’s uncomplicated. I like that. I’m going to finish my supper now. I’ll see you later."
Glaser slid back out of the booth, his stomach pulling the cloth cockeyed. He stifled a belch and left.
Wilder heard muffled giggles on the other side of the cafe. Swell, the second reason for this evening’s indigestion reappearing for an encore. Two teen-aged girls popped out of their booth and blushed their way over.
"Hi, Mr. Wilder," one of them breathed.
"Was that the sheriff talking to you?" the other asked. Her eyes were alarmingly large and moony.
"Mmhmm."
"My mom doesn’t think he should always be bothering you."
"Do I know you?" Wilder asked.
"Yeah. Well, no, but you gave our class a tour of the museum."
"Oh." Wilder decided not to eat out anymore except during school hours.
"Well, bye, Mr. Wilder. Bye."
They crowded through the door. He watched as they walked down the street, nudging each other in fits of giggles, heads together comparing notes and looking back to see if he was looking after them.
Being blushed over was one thing. Being admired because the sheriff considered him suspicious was something else entirely. And that made reason number four and time to head for the door himself. He passed his hand over his face and gave the back of his neck a hard rub.
"Hey, Lewis." A young woman touched his shoulder and slid into the booth. Wilder relaxed and gave her a genuine smile.
"Hey, Pam. I didn’t see you in here."
"I was in the kitchen talking to my sister."
"Willie’s your sister?"
"Has been all my life. Say, weren’t those girls a little young for you?"
"I’m not sure, I think they might’ve been trying to set me up with their mothers."
She grinned and pushed a Styrofoam container across the table to him. "Here, Willie says yours is cold by now and you’ve hardly touched a bite. Take this home for later; have it after the board meeting."
"Oh hell, what time is it?"
"Better run."
"Thanks, Pam. See you in the morning." Wilder grabbed the container and a stack of folders from the seat next to him. "Tell Willie thanks." He fumbled with the door then jogged down the street wondering again why he’d thought this town and this job were such a good idea. As he passed a trash barrel he tossed the Styrofoam container into it. The number one reason for his indigestion was Willie’s godawful chili.
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All material on this website © Molly MacRae