All Murders Final! Read Online Free

murder.
    â€œWhat’d you go and do that for?” Pellner asked when I hung up.
    â€œBecause a wise man once told me never to talk to the police without a lawyer. I should have called Vincenzo before talking to you.” Especially before I mentioned the online argument.
    Pellner glanced upward, as if sending up a silent prayer. “Since you called Vincenzo, I’m guessing it was Angelo DiNapoli who gave you that bit of advice.”
    â€œIt was.” Angelo and his wife, Rosalie, were two of my favorite people in Ellington. They owned DiNapoli’s Roast Beef and Pizza and were almost substitute parents, since my family lived out in California. “They’ll be so shocked when they hear that Margaret’s dead. That she was murdered.” I shivered, the ice storm back inside me.
    â€œEveryone will be,” Pellner said.
    * * *
    The rest of the morning was a blur. The state police arrived and were impatient when they found I wouldn’t say a word until my lawyer showed up. It took Vincenzo a long time to arrive, and then he basically wouldn’t let me say more than I already had. Under his watchful eye, I signed the statement certifying that what I had told Pellner was true.
    â€œWhen can I get my car back?” I asked Pellner as Vincenzo and I followed him to the lobby.
    â€œWhen they’re done with it,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    â€œI’ll drop you home,” Vincenzo said, whisking me out before I could say anything else.
    Vincenzo’s driver held open the back door of the car for us to climb in. I thanked him as I scooted across the luxurious leather seat to make room for Vincenzo. He took up a lot of space in the back of the car. Part of it was his physical presence—barrel chest, long legs, big head, with slicked-back dark hair. Large hands adorned with a ruby-studded pinkie ring. The other part was a mixture of charisma and confidence.
    â€œWhat a nice way to travel. My Suburban is ten years old, and I need it to last a lot longer.” I ran my hand across the leather.
    â€œIt’s comfortable, yes,” Vincenzo said. “But it’s also quite handy. I can work if I don’t have to drive, and with the traffic in the Boston area, I get a lot done.”
    I would like to have a driver but didn’t ever see that happening. Since my divorce I’d started a business organizing garage sales for people, but garage sales and snow weren’t a good mix. I’d had to get creative, which was why I’d started my online garage sale site last October. I’d attracted some advertisers and sold my own stuff on the site, in addition to selling things for others and taking a commission. Last fall the town had hired me to run New England’s Largest Yard Sale. I had tucked some of that money into savings, where I’d also put the money from our divorce settlement. CJ had insisted I take half our savings when we divorced, as well as half his retirement pay and alimony. If Margaret’s murder was linked to my site I could be in big trouble.
    The car glided to a stop in front of my apartment building—an old frame house with a large covered porch. The house had been divided into four units. I lived on the upper right side. The upper left side had been empty since last spring.
    â€œCall me if you hear anything from the police,” Vincenzo said as I slid out.
    â€œThank you.”
    As the car pulled away, my stomach rumbled, but it wasn’t hunger for once, which was a good thing, since without a car, it would be a long, cold walk in the snow to pick up groceries.
    My apartment was on the west side of the town common. A thin layer of snow covered the lawn and made the beautiful old Congregational church on the south end look like the cover for a fancy coffee table book— Winter Scenes of New England . A corner of the common had been flooded to make an ice skating rink. A couple of families