Butter Off Dead Read Online Free Page B

“Hey, we’re invited for a snow barbecue Sunday, after skiing.”
    The front door opened and a blast of arctic air blew in, ruffling the red-and-white bunting Red’s leaves up all year. A stocky man in grease-worn Carhartts and work boots, a ball cap pulled tight, shoved the door closed.
    â€œJack Frost,” the crowd yelled.
    Not some magic winter incarnation, but his name. A Friday night regular, also known as “the Junkman.” He waved nicotine-stained fingers and stomped to the bar.
    And as he stomped, Christine gave him the evil eye.
    A few minutes later the last game ended, the Caldwell cousins still the champs. We ordered a plate of nachos and a basket of Red’s waffle fries and settled around a scuffed wooden table. The smells of hot cheese and jalapeños mingled with the scents of hot potatoes, salt, and spicy mustard.
    The front door flew open again. Two men headed for the bar, passing our table on the way.
    â€œLook who the cat dragged in.” Kyle stood, tall, slender, and blond like all his family, and extended a hand toward a man about his own age—mid-thirties—but his opposite at about five-seven and two hundred pounds. Opposite in dress, too: Kyle had traded the chef’s duds he wore by day for jeans, boots, and a collared gray knit pullover. The other man’s royal blue parka hung open, exposing pleated khakis and a navy tie dotted with green sailboats loose at the neck of his pink button-down.
    â€œCaldwell,” the man said, squeezing Kyle’s hand in his own plump mitt. “Haven’t seen you in ages.” The sight whisked me back to a hot August day. Danny Davis, manager of the rental car agency in Pondera.
PON-duh-ray
, the big town—all of thirty thousand—thirty miles away. He’d given me the evidence I’d needed to persuade the undersheriff toprobe a little deeper. Evidence that proved a man a liar and a killer.
    â€œYou know some of these folks, don’t you?” Kyle gestured around the table. “Christine Vandeberg, meet Dan Davis. My high school buddy and fellow car nut. Nick and Erin Murphy, I think you know.”
    Nick stood and they shook hands. Four years my senior, he may not have known Danny. Kyle and Danny had been a year ahead of me, though Danny had barely been on my radar screen. As their hands dropped, Danny’s eyes settled on me and I wasn’t sure if they were friendly or not.
    â€œAdam Zimmerman.” Adam’s chair leg hooked mine as he pushed it back, forcing him to an awkward half stand.
    â€œAnd you know my cousin Kim,” Kyle said. “Don’t get on her bad side. She’s a pool shark.”
    Not to mention a deputy sheriff. Danny rubbed his face and his eyes flitted around our table, chased by a hearty bellow. “So this is where the action is in Jewel Bay. Red’s never changes.”
    â€œWhat brings you down here on a Friday night? You live in Pondera, don’t you?” Kyle reached for his chair. “Sit. Have a beer.”
    â€œDropping off a rental car.” Danny grabbed an empty chair from the next table, spun it around, and sat, arms folded over the chair back. An “I’m not staying” gesture. “Thought we’d grab a drink before heading home.”
    â€œWe were talking about the film festival these two”—Kyle pointed first at Christine, then at me—“cooked up.”
    â€œThe Food Lovers’ Film Festival,” Christine said. “Next weekend. Five great films, classic movie food. An Oscar feast to wrap it up on Sunday. You should come over.”
    â€œI do love food.” He reached for the nachos.
    â€œSix great films,” I said. “Don’t forget the kids’ documentary. World premiere.”
    Kyle set his bottle on the table and leaned back. “Right. High school Film Club, Video Club, whatever they call itnow. They shot a piece on classic cars and their