A Stitch to Die For (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free Page B

Mama.
    “Before you and I left for Paris.”
    “What about Cynthia’s sister?” I asked. “Didn’t she want to pay her respects?”
    “What sister?” asked Lawrence. “Cynthia was an only child.”
    I suppose that explained why Cynthia’s sister was a no-show at Lawrence and Mama’s wedding. I’d assumed she’d stayed away from the nuptials in solidarity with Cynthia.
    “Ira,” I said, “the day we met you told us Cynthia was out of town visiting her sister.”
    “You must have misunderstood,” he mumbled into his plate.
    “I don’t think so.” I turned to Mama. “You remember, don’t you, Mama?”
    “I’m afraid I don’t, dear.”
    Well, I did. I clearly remembered the conversation, plus the one a few days later when Ira said he had to leave to pick Cynthia up at the airport. Why had he lied? “So who was Cynthia visiting back then?” I asked.
    Ira refused to make eye contact with me. “I may have said she’d gone to visit a sorority sister.”
    He hadn’t. At the time I didn’t know Cynthia was Ira’s trophy wife and his kids’ stepmother. Had he mentioned a sorority sister, I would have thought it odd for a mother to choose visiting a friend over attending Parents’ Day at her children’s overnight camp. “Was she?”
    He pulled at his tie and loosened his collar before mumbling, “Not exactly.”
    I let the subject drop. Ira’s refusal to look at me, along with his fidgeting body language, suggested Cynthia had been off cavorting with her pool boy lover.
    ~*~
    By the time everyone not living under the Casa Pollack roof had departed for their own homes, a heavy metal percussion band had taken up residence between my temples. I put away the leftover Chinese food, turned my back on the dirty dishes still piled on the dining room table, and headed for the boys’ bedroom.
    “I need you guys to load the dishwasher for me.”
    Nick glanced up from his chemistry book. “You look kind of green, Mom.”
    “That’s why I need your help. I’ve got a date with two Motrin and a steamy bath.”
    “How do we keep Uncle Ira and his kids from dropping in all the time?” asked Alex.
    “Short of gagging your grandmother? I’m not sure.”
    “Now that grandma’s married to Lawrence, we’re going to see a lot more of Ira and his kids, aren’t we?”
    I sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
    ~*~
    “How are the newlyweds?” asked Cloris the next morning at work. “Did the groom survive?”
    Cloris McWerther is the food editor at American Woman , the magazine where I work as the crafts editor. Our cubicles are across the hall from each other. However, Cloris is much more than merely a coworker. She’s the Dr. Watson to my amateur Sherlocking, even saving my life once when another coworker tried to kill me.
    She also keeps me from starving, given that I often don’t have time for breakfast in the morning and usually work through lunch. Unfortunately, the sustenance she provides is generally of the baked goods variety—disastrous to both my lack of willpower and my spreading hips. Today’s offering consisted of an assortment of liqueur-infused donuts supplied by a new bakery in Union Square. I immediately zeroed in on the chocolate-glazed Chambord confection. The combination of chocolate and raspberries will be my downfall. Spike the two with alcohol, and I’m doomed to suffer from Spreading Hip Syndrome for the rest of my life.
    Cloris receives a constant stream of edible swag from vendors hoping for editorial showcasing in our magazine. Me? My swag consists of calorie-free but definitely inedible felt squares, chenille stems, and pompoms. Life can be so unfair.
    As I savored the donut, I caught Cloris up on the events of last evening. “I’m glad Mama has found someone who makes her happy; I just wish he didn’t come with so much dysfunctional family baggage. I have enough of that from Lucille.”
    “If you’re referring to Ira and his family, you’d have them with or without Lawrence in