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

glowered and passed him the five-dollar bill.
    “I know I’m gonna regret asking this, but what do you do with the coins?”
    “Don’t you worry your head about it. You just go on in and get busy. I’ve got some investigating of my own to do. I’ll meet you back at the house.”
    “I’m sure not making any promises,” he said.
    “You’d better. And bring the car home so it doesn’t sit in front of the library all night.”
    Hardy wasn’t even listening. Didn’t take him long to move himself when food was to be had.
    After retracing my steps back to the crime scene, I crossed to the other side of the road and passed the elementary school, made a left onto Foster Court, and came to a halt opposite the combination post office and gas station. Two houses down, Dana Letzburg’s Victorian home sprawled on a spring green lawn.
    Marion’s phone conversation that morning had involved someone else. Apparently Chief Conrad hadn’t thought to ask me if I knew who that other person might be . . .
    I slid off my shoes, rubbed one aching foot over the other, rearranged the seam of my hose across my toes, and slipped back into the low-heeled pumps. This murder stuff was killing my bunions.

 
 
    Generations of Letzburgs ’ had lived in the old Victorian. Town legend marked Dana’s great-grandfather as the sheriff during the crazy days of the Gold Rush when Maple Gap raised itself from the dust. When an assayer decided to steal the miners' gold, Maple Gap almost became a ghost town, but citizens did their best to keep the men from leaving. A few townspeople pooled their money and ran an ad in some East Coast papers, inviting women to come to the little town, marry, and settle down.
    Some of Maple Gap’s old timer’s still vowed that the assayer’s stash of gold had yet to be found.
    One summer, after my children got wind of the legend, they had dedicated the rest of their vacation to searching for it, digging holes wherever they went. I spent the summer sending Hardy out to fill those holes and offer apologies to our rather irate neighbors.
    The memory of my babies, now grown and gone, settled like a melancholy lump in my stomach as I hobbled up the short flight of steps to Dana’s front door and rang the doorbell.
    Soft footsteps on hardwood, a flash of color through the glass sidelight, and the door swung open to reveal Dana. Her smile welcomed me before her words. “What a surprise, Mrs. Barnhart. I was just grading papers.”
    “I thought we might sit and talk a spell.”
    Dana opened the door wider and stepped back. “Come on in.”
    I gave the gal a once over. “Regina did a good job on your hair.” Indeed she had. Dana’s short dark hair sported muted highlights I hadn’t really noticed when I’d asked her about the allegations against Valorie Peters.
    My hostess made a face. “All Regina’s talk of politics drives me a little crazy. She should run for office, as passionate as she is about things happening in this town.”
    “She was on a committee with Marion a few years ago.”
    “They probably disagreed on everything,” Dana said. “I’ll make us a pot of tea.”
    Tea. Oh no. The vile brew makes me burp. I almost suggested a tall glass of water in lieu of the tea, but Dana was out of sight. I huffed and decided I’d just toss it back and gulp real quick . That way I wouldn’t taste a thing.
    I shut the door and studied the mess in the living room on my left. Anyone would guess the young woman had either just moved in or was preparing to move out. Boxes of every size covered the living room floor. One comfy armchair and a floor lamp seemed the only pieces of usable furniture.
    “Looks like you’ve still got your work cut out for you,” I raised my voice to be heard.
    The splash of water measured Dana’s progress on tea preparation. She appeared in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the dining room.
    “I keep trying to get rid of boxes, but it seems they multiply while I’m