Shaded light : a Manziuk and Ryan mystery

Surrounded by windows dressed with yard upon yard of fabric flowers in rose, blue, yellow, and white, seated on a matching soft floral chair, Ellen Brodie was able to take a few moments to sip a ginger ale and get herself ready. She smoothed the skirt of the chic turquoise dress from the small boutique on Yonge Street and patted her hair, which was dark brown freely intermixed with gray, and had been put up in as modern a style as her despairing hairdresser could get her to approve. Cutting it was out of the question. Her hair had been waist length all her life and she couldn't fathom it any other way. Besides, George liked it long. Her figure was good--comfortable, she called it. She'd put on a few pounds over the years, but not enough to worry about. In fact, she rarely worried. And she wasn't worried now. Only she did hope this weekend went well. As she looked through the glass doors at the patio with its brightly colored umbrella tables and fabulous gardens, she wanted to pinch herself. She still found it hard to believe this spectacular house, mansion, really, was hers. She had spent her entire life in Cabbagetown, one of the oldest areas in downtown Toronto: her childhood in a small, battered third-story apartment, her first four years with George in a dingy basement, the next ten years in a narrow row house, and finally, the last twenty-four in a very comfortable three-story house on a large, well-treed lot. Cabbagetown had been home. But this spring, George had decided Cabbagetown was no longer good enough for them; they should move far from the heart of the city to a suburb where other affluent people lived. It took some getting used to. She suspected her feelings were much like Cinderella's might have been after the honeymoon when Prince Charming carried her over the threshold of the castle and said, "Okay, honey, this is home now." But this one room she loved. She smiled as her eyes moved from the view through the patio doors to the interior of the room. She called it the "day room" because the real estate agent had deemed that to be the proper name, but she thought of it as her own personal refuge--a soft, gentle space, perhaps a little large with its numerous groupings of chairs and coffee tables, but bright and cheery and comfortable. The feminine equivalent of her husband's heavy book-lined study. Only in this room did she really feel at home. But it was to be expected that it would take some time to get used to living in a mansion. A bright whistle from outside broke into Ellen's thoughts and she started, turning her head toward the now-open patio doors. "Hello, Aunt Ellen." Ellen's glass of ginger ale tumbled from suddenly numbed fingers. Amber liquid seeped into the thick rose carpeting. Excerpted from Shaded Light: A Manziuk and Ryan Mystery by N. J. Lindquist All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.