Puzzled to Death

1 Cora Felton pulled the heavy knit sweater around her shoulders, crinkled her nose, squinted her eyes against the sun, and declared: "I. Hate. Fall." Her niece, Sherry Carter, smiled indulgently. "You don't hate fall, Cora. You're just not used to it." "I'll say." Cora Felton kicked her foot absently at the dead oak and maple leaves that adorned the front lawn. "We don't have seasons in the city. It's warmer or colder, and that's it. Unless you go to the park, and why would I do that? There are no stores in the park." "That's very true," Sherry agreed. She hiked up the sleeves on her green fleece pullover, stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and tilted her chin up. "Just breathe that morning air." "I can breathe it inside," Cora muttered. "That's why we have windows. What are we doing out here?" In point of fact, Sherry Carter had lured Cora Felton out to the lawn of their tidy little Connecticut house in the hope that the brisk November air would take the edge off Cora's hangover. Sherry's aunt had been cranky at breakfast and seemed on the verge of mixing her second Bloody Mary, always a bad sign. Sherry loved her aunt dearly and looked out for Cora's welfare, usually against Cora's will. Sherry smiled. "Cora, we're out here for just the reason you said. To notice the seasons. Something we don't do in Manhattan. I mean, isn't this a gorgeous day? And here we are, on a beautiful woodsy lot, on a deserted country road, no neighbors to speak of, the only sign of civilization the power line up the driveway. What's not to like?" Cora Felton smiled, her patented trademark smile that lit up the picture that adorned the nationally syndicated crossword-puzzle column that ran under her name. "Sherry, sweetheart, it's nice. It's just not New York. I mean, take food, for instance. In my apartment, I open the kitchen drawer, I got twenty or thirty menus from the best restaurants in town that can be there at the drop of a hat. Can you name me one restaurant in Bakerhaven that delivers?" "You could take a cooking class," Sherry suggested. "I'd rather get married again." "Aunt Cora." "At my age, a husband wouldn't be nearly as annoying as some teacher telling me what to do." Cora yawned and stretched. "Well, that's enough of nature. Time for a drink." "Little early in the day to be drinking," Sherry ventured. "It's fall," Cora replied. "There's a time change. We set our clocks back. I'm still on daylight savings time." "It's ten in the morning." "What's your point?" "You remember why we came out here?" Sherry asked. "We were going to walk around the house. So far we've managed to get down the front steps. Not good enough, Aunt Cora. We're going to stroll the perimeter of the property." Sherry took Cora's arm, led her away as she talked. "At least the tree line. I like the sound of that, don't you? The tree line. Doesn't it sound like we have a couple of hundred acres, instead of only one?" "You're awfully talkative this morning," Cora grumbled. "Without really mentioning anything. And you're in aHall, Parnell is the author of 'Puzzled to Death' with ISBN 9780553581461 and ISBN 0553581465.