A Crusty Murder Read Online Free

Seanmhair had waited on the final customer of the day, she locked up, swept the floor, and bundled the dozen or so remaining rolls into bags with the last loaves of bread.
    “I’m off to play cards unless you need me,” she said, a hint of mischief in her voice.
    “I’ll be fine. I have errands to run. I’ll drop these leftovers off at the homeless shelter. Enjoy your card game. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I answered with a smile.
    I scurried behind her, shut down the kitchen, and headed upstairs to my apartment. I’d lived with my grandmother until she’d sold her home and moved into senior citizens’ housing. Seanmhair’s lovely Georgian style house had passed down through our family over the years. With no male heir, coupled with my disinterest in having tax and repair bills I couldn’t pay, Seanmhair had asked if I’d mind if she moved the house on to a new owner. Saddened by the decision, I’d felt it wise to agree. Once I’d finished college, the house went on the real estate market. Seanmhair had moved, as had I.
    Through the apartment’s rear window, I watched her drive away. Seanmhair’s driving skills left much to be desired, but she steadfastly refused to surrender her license and give up the freedom it offered. In her shoes, I’d probably feel the same. With a shake of my head, I turned away and considered how I’d pay an attorney to save my ass should I be arrested for murdering Mrs. Peterson.
    My coat and gloves lay on the chair. I grabbed them and left the apartment.
     

Chapter 4
    Baked goods lay on the passenger seat of my Fiat. I drove to the homeless shelter and handed them to Martin Mason, the manager. He offered his thanks and mentioned the morning news flash concerning Mrs. Peterson.
    To quell his interest and possible gossip mongering, I said I’d seen the news and was horrified by such a terrible experience. With that, I said goodbye and left him standing behind the serving counter before he could ask anything else.
    Bank deposit made, and my supplies ordered, I climbed the steps to my shop when I heard a car door slam. As part of our lease, tenants parked in the rear lot of our building. Who would handle the rentals now was anybody’s guess. I glanced over my shoulder. BettyJo Seever marched across the pavement, and I badly needed to discuss our dilemma.
    We’d been friends in college, had dated some of the same guys, compared notes on them, and now we lived next door to one another. The entire building stretched from one end of the block to the other. While each shop had its own entrance, a long, four-foot wide deck of sorts stretched across the back of the structure. Sets of stairs led to the parking lot.
    Hastily, I gathered a couple of empanadas, half-moon shaped bread filled with seasoned meat, from my kitchen counter and went to meet her. Leftover dough had given me the chance to make these luscious pastries. Rather than deep fry them, I baked my empanadas. It was one way to enjoy them without added calories. As it was, I tended to be a smidge fluffy around the middle.
    I’m not fat, but not rail thin, either. I’d given up dieting long ago. I realized that I needed to be happy with the way I was and accept the fact that I’d never be model material. I liked to call my bit of fluff pleasing .
    A nervous expression, and anxious brown eyes, met my smile as BettyJo stared at the bag in my hands. “Okay, what delicious fare are you going to feed me this time, Melina?”
    “I thought you could use sustenance after a tough day at the bank, so I made empanadas for us. Besides that, we should talk about Mrs. Peterson and the media.”
    BettyJo moaned, rolled her eyes, and motioned me into her tarot shop. I noticed the carpet was absent, and the yellow crime scene tape had been removed. I gazed at the unique doodads draped everywhere. Numerous fairies and glittering stars were suspended from the ceiling. I ducked my head to avoid hitting them. Gauzy, purple fabric swags