a Touch of Ice Read Online Free

only to have my attitude interrupted by a woman setting up a display of bright, shiny Granny Smith’s in front of the general store. I have a weakness for apple pie, heavy on the cinnamon, and the display stopped my pursuit of justice in mid-stride.
    Violet tossed the blanket over my shoulders and shoved me into Starbucks. “Coffee first, pie later.” We’d shared enough apple pies that she knew exactly what was going through my head.
    The three of us settled around a table toward the back, steaming mugs in front of us. I secured the blanket around my body, tucked the ends under my thighs and faced Mitchell Hunt, potential murderer—the first guy who had truly made my toes wiggle, and might, in some totally unexplainable way, be responsible for the dark circles under my eyes.
    I blew on my coffee, stalling for time. How do you ask someone if they moonlight as an assassin?
    “So, Mitchell, surely you weren’t taking pictures of Everly for your work?” Violet swirled an almond biscotti in her hazelnut latte, tapped it on the edge of her cup, then eyed Mitchell as she bit down. Hard.
    “Mitch,” he clarified as he picked up his mug. “And no, I don’t, wasn’t…okay. Truth is I had a bad night and when she—” he twitched in my direction— “sprang from the waves like some sea goddess…it was sweet light. I couldn’t help myself.”
    My fingers inched toward the camera. “Could I see?”
    He took a swallow of his French roast and fiddled with some buttons on the camera. “Sure, but first how about I go order you a muffin? You didn’t get anything to eat and we can’t have you dropping at my feet again. Gotta confess, not the usual effect I have on women.”
    Violet stifled a snort.
    “Thanks, but I’ll get one on the way out. My latte is heavy on the milk, so should fix me right up.” I breathed in the fragrance of cinnamon from my steaming mug and prayed for divine inspiration. How do you casually bring up a dead body when you aren’t supposed to know it exists? “I haven’t had much sleep the past few…” Not good enough. I cleared my throat and started again. “Mostly it’s been an ordinary Saturday. Nothing exciting like a murder—”
    Mitch stopped fiddling with the camera, narrowed his eyes and looked right through me. Didn’t say a word.
    I’d really done it. Mouth malfunction in the extreme. Damn. So much for divine inspiration. I had to get out more. Talk to people instead of clients. Totally different thing, being social.
    Violet’s mouth had dropped open. Again. She was rarely at a loss for words, but it didn’t look like I’d be getting any help from that direction for a while.
    I filtered some words though my censoring system—even though it was obviously on the fritz—and hurried to fill the deafening silence. “My life is pretty quiet most of the time.” There, I did it. Ordinary, non-threatening words that could be found in any casual conversation. I sipped my latte, chancing a quick look at Mitch over the edge of the cup.
    “Quiet, huh? What kind of work do you do? Besides auditioning for bit parts as a sea nymph?”
    “I‘m a personal coach and I specialize in helping people solve problems and find balance as they flow, or not, with their life issues.” Excellent. Normal people chat about work all the time. Maybe there was hope for me yet.
    “Uh-huh.” He angled his mug toward Violet. “And you?”
    “I do private inquiry work.”
    Mitch’s mug landed on the table with a thud. “A PI? You’re a private investigator?”
    Her lips quirked into an almost smile. “Yes.”
    Mitch shifted in his chair, took a swallow of coffee, and ran his hand along the back of his neck.
    “The pictures?” Violet nodded toward the camera. “I’d like to see them, too.”
    He handed her the camera. She cupped his hand. Could this get any more twisted?
    “Me too.” Enough with the pretending. I leaned toward Violet and grabbed his wrist, my fingers getting lost in the soft