Hanging by a Thread Read Online Free

checkbook and then we both go to Antiquity Rose for a bowl of soup? Or have you had lunch?”
    He hesitated, then nodded. “Not yet.”
    Antiquity Rose was a house converted to a tea and antique shop. It had an excellent kitchen, which was currently featuring a hearty potato-cheese soup. Betsy had hers with a bran muffin. Foster chose the fat, warm breadstick.
    After a few spoonfuls, Betsy said, “Did you bring your bill with you?”
    “Yes, but that’s not the problem I wanted to talk to you about.”
    “No? What’s the problem?”
    Foster looked across the little table, his face a mix of desperation and hope. “I heard you do private investigations for people falsely charged with crimes.”
    “That’s approximately true. Who’s in trouble?”
    His smile was wry. “Don’t tell me they didn’t give you an earful while I was gone. Because of people like them, I’ve been living in hell for five years and eleven days.”
    “Ah,” said Betsy. “Yes, they told me about Paul and Angela Schmitt.”
    “I was hoping that if I could get just one person in town to give me a chance, then they’d start to come around. But I guess now you’re sorry I took advantage of your ignorance.”
    Betsy’s lips tightened. “That’s not true.”
    “Of course, if I murdered two people, nothing could be bad enough to be worse than I deserve. But I didn’t. I’ve done everything I can think of to show people I’m an honest citizen, but nothing’s worked. Then someone told me about you—”
    “Who?” interrupted Betsy. “Who told you?”
    “Jurgens, the inspector. He told me you solved your sister’s murder and another murder up on the North Shore. ‘She’s real slick,’ is how Jurgens put it. I hope he’s right and this is something you’re willing to do for me.” Indeed, he looked so hopeful, Betsy’s heart was again wrenched, and all her promises about this being too busy a time of year for sleuthing began to crumble. Still, she held herself to a mere nod, and he continued, “I don’t know what you charge, but if you can clear my name, any amount is worth it. How much do you want as a retainer?”
    “Nothing. I don’t have a private investigator’s license, and I wouldn’t dream of taking money from you.”
    He tossed his spoon into his bowl and sat back. “I’m sorry you feel like that.”
    “Wait a minute, I didn’t say I wouldn’t try to help. I am willing to look into your problem, but it will be strictly as an amateur.” Hope flared on his face—here was no heart of ice or nerve of steel—and she added, “I just hope you aren’t in a big rush. It will probably be after the first of the year before I can give your case the attention it deserves. All I can do now is try to gather some basic information.”
    He nodded. “I’ve waited this long, I can be patient a while longer. What do you want to know?”
    She asked, “First, have you thought about hiring a real private investigator?”
    “I did that. He charged me three thousand dollars and all he could tell me was that Paul Schmitt probably abused Angela. I already knew that to be a fact.”
    Betsy said, “It’s been five years. If I start asking questions, people are going to recall some sordid details. Are you sure you want me bringing the whole mess up again?”
    “What again? It’s never gone away. I’ll tell you anything I can. What do you need from me to begin with?”
    Betsy thought. “Let’s start with Angela. Tell me about her.”
    Foster leaned forward and a slow smile formed as he cast his mind back. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with her,” he said. “I don’t even know exactly when it happened. I do know that it started when I said something to her on the steps after church one Sunday about it finally getting warm enough to do some work outdoors, and she thought I meant gardening. I said, ‘No, I own a construction company,’ which I did back then, and we were making a joke about the misunderstanding when her