Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

restaurant. I wanted him to do some investigating for me while I went to another section of town. I had no patience to sit and wait until the state police did their tests to figure if Marion’s death was an accident or not. Falling against a radiator would put a hurting on someone, sure, but kill them? Nah. My gut told me Marion’s death was no accident. Questioning those residents of our fair town who Marion had penciled in her little black book would give me a jump start on the chief.
    I lifted my head to catch the scents wafting across the street from the restaurant. “Smells an awful lot like fried chicken. You have any money on you?”
    Hardy slipped a thin wallet from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it open for my perusal.
    “Three dollars?”
    He glanced down into the wallet. “Living with you makes me a poor man. I saw you snitch my ten out yesterday.”
    “Only because of your overdue library books.”
    Hardy folded his wallet. “Where’s the change?”
    I glanced right, then left, making sure no one was looking in our direction, and patted my chest. “Between the two of us we’ve got nine dollars and some change,” I assured him. “I’ll give you the five and you go eat at Mark’s. Ask him some questions about Marion and Valorie .”
    Hardy stared at me from under his bushy brows. “I’m not the nosey one. If I go there to eat, I’m gonna eat, not talk.”
    “Was you who suggested to the chief I had a motive for murdering Marion, the least you can do is help to clear my name.”
    Hardy’s brows drew together, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Don’t know. Being married to a murderer. . . They arrest you and you move to the pen, I’ll have room for that Grotrian .”
    “How you gonna pay for that thing?”
    “How else? Write a book on the torture I endured being married to a cold-blooded murderer. Probably even get a movie made about me.” His eyes shifted down the street toward Marion’s store, where Chief Conrad stood talking to the coroner. “Maybe I’ll just hitch myself down there and have a little talk with our man in blue.”
    As he started off in that direction, I latched onto the back of his collar and yanked hard. “Unless you want to be the main event at the next funeral, you’d better get your skinny self back here.”
    “See? I’m threatened with bodily harm every day.”
    “If you hadn’t shot off your mouth to the chief about Marion firing me, I wouldn’t need you to do this.”
    “She did fire you.”
    How could this man be so thick? “No. I quit.”
    Hardy crossed his arms, his lower lip pushed out in his classic look of pure mulishness. “Only after she fired you.”
    “And you saw how fast Conrad jumped on that. Like a man with a pimple, he was going to squeeze and squeeze until he got something.”
    “Well if you didn’t do it, what are you worried about?”
    “I’m not worried!”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you yelling?”
    “I’m not−−” My jaws snapped shut when I noticed the two patrons outside of Your Goose is Cooked, picking their teeth and staring my way. Good town folk. I waved at them and beamed a huge smile. “What’s the special today, boys? Smells like fried chicken.”
    Wilbur Gates rubbed his ample stomach. “All you can eat.”
    “Sounds good to me,” I trilled over at Hardy. “What about you, honey-babe?”
    “Sure, dumplin ’,” Hardy drawled. “Whatever you want.”
    Wilbur and company moved off down the sidewalk as Hardy and I crossed the road arm- in-arm, acting fine and dandy.
    I stopped at the door to the restaurant and did another quick glance up and down Gold Street to make sure no one else would be privy to my words. “You get yourself in there and do that askin ’ before they put a ball and chain around my ankle. You’ll starve to death without me.” Before he could reply, I plunged my hand down the front of my dress and rooted around for my small stash of cash.
    Hardy flashed his gold tooth.
    I