All Murders Final! Read Online Free Page B

they did know.
    I’d have to research the old-fashioned way. I reopened my computer and Googled Margaret. Not surprisingly, a bunch of stuff came up. Honorary chair of this, president of that, her work to save the home where Thoreau was born in Concord, her position on the board of Orchard House, the home of the Alcott family in Concord. She had had her finger in a plethora of pies.
    I moved on to searching for information about her personal life. She had nine siblings, most of whom had stayed within a five-mile radius of Ellington, but a couple had moved to Boston. Gasp! The fifteen-mile move to Boston was, by Massachusetts’s standards, the equivalent of moving to the moon. People stayed put here. Roots ran deep. I made notes of their names for further research, but from what I could tell, they looked to be a successful, productive bunch. All of them had their own large families. It could take days to sort them all out. One of her sons was an Ellington selectmen, a member of the executive body that ran the town, and was engaged to our sometimes prickly town manager.
    I gave up on that and went back to my garage sale site. I’d promised Pellner I’d message Frieda Chida. He might have already tracked her down, but I was curious as to what she might know. Wording the note was a bit awkward. How did you tell someone, “The police want to talk with you,” without telling them why? But my worries were for naught. She’d already messaged me. It read: Thanks for siccing the police on me .
    Yeesh. Thank you, Ellington police , I thought .
    Then the message said : They wouldn’t tell me it was you, but I know it has to be. Who else would have known?
    Oops, not the EPD’s fault. Well, anyone who had read the post last night would know we were both interested in Margaret’s vintage tablecloth. I should have deleted it last night, per the rules of the site, which stated that as soon as an item was sold, the post had to be deleted. That way the site wasn’t clogged with old posts. Actually Margaret, as the seller, should have deleted it. But last night I’d been so mad, I’d slammed the cover of my laptop closed without following my own rules.
    Now how to respond to Frieda’s remark? I could deny it. The police had told me not to say anything. I could fess up or just point out that others had seen the post too. Or I could not answer at all. But my curiosity got the better of me. I wondered how much she knew.
    So I sent a quick note. Really?
    That seemed noncommittal enough. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait, but I’d barely hit SEND when I heard back.
    No, she wrote. I’m making the whole thing up . Sarcasm almost dripped off her reply. They asked me all sorts of questions about how I knew Margaret and how well. I told them I’d cleaned for the woman for years, until last spring, when she fired me. Besides, it’s not like you can live in Ellington and not know about Margaret and her family. It’s annoying. You’d think they were royalty, the way people fawn over them .
    Whoa. Frieda worked for Margaret and was fired? I wondered what the police thought about that.

    I made sure the police knew how mad you were last night, when Margaret sold me the tablecloth.

    Gee, thanks. I wrote back: She shouldn’t have said I could have it and then changed her mind.

    You have too many damn rules. It should go to the highest bidder.

    I shook my head. I didn’t want to rehash our argument.
    Another message popped up. I wanted the damn tablecloth. I just remodeled my kitchen, and it’s the perfect finishing touch. I wonder how long I’ll have to wait to get it now.
    The twelfth of never. Apparently, the police hadn’t told her the tablecloth was the murder weapon, or so it seemed to me. I have no idea.

    My grandma had one like that in her kitchen when I was little. She went to heaven’s pearly gates way too young. My mom got rid of