Gourd to Death by Kirsten Weiss

Author:Kirsten Weiss [Weiss, Kirsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2020-07-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

“I can’t believe you let them arrest my mother.” Doran fumed, pacing Pie Town’s checkerboard floor.

I clutched a sheaf of plastic menus to my chest. “Takako’s not under arrest,” I said. “She’s free.”

“Why’d they let her go?” Graham asked from the counter.

“Because she had no reason to kill anyone,” I said. Besides, the police had found Takako’s paperweight in her hotel room. The murder weapon wasn’t hers after all. Shaw might want to prefer arresting Takako to arresting his golfing partner, but he couldn’t ignore the facts.

“They raided her room.” Doran’s blue eyes flashed. “Shaw threatened her.”

In their corner booth, the gamers pretended not to hear Doran’s raised voice. The other Friday-morning regulars had no such compunction. They watched avidly.

“Shaw threatens everyone,” I said. “He just didn’t like that your mom called me before she called the police.”

“I don’t understand why either,” he grumbled.

“How’s she doing?” I asked meekly.

“She’s recovering in her hotel.”

I was a little jealous. The hotel’s ban on me was totally unfair.

Okay, mostly unfair.

Marla swiveled on her barstool at the counter. “The real question, is why Val and Charlene involved your mother in the first place.”

Doran crossed his arms over his black leather jacket. “Yeah. Why did you?”

“We didn’t! I mean, we didn’t ask her to. And she wasn’t. She told me she was . . .” I trailed off. This was starting to feel like tattling.

“Was what?” Doran’s dark brows curved downward.

“Takako’s her own woman,” Charlene said from the opposite end of the counter. It was as far as she could get from Marla. “And she’s an adult who makes her own decisions. She does what she wants to do.”

Draped over her shoulders, Frederick yawned.

“She didn’t want to get arrested!” Doran shouted.

Marla blew on her coffee. “Well, she did find a murder victim and then delay reporting it. What do you expect?”

“Cannon was a good man.” Graham shifted on his barstool. “He got me my reading glasses.”

“If you trained your eyes,” Tally-Wally said from beside him, “you wouldn’t need glasses, like me. Look.” He rolled his eyes and made exaggerated, blinking movements.

Graham harrumphed. “Balderdash! Don’t think I haven’t noticed you squinting at menus, which, by the way, you hold at arm’s length. The reason you like this place so much is because you can use distance vision for the chalkboard.” He pointed at the menu on the wall, where we listed the day’s specials.

“I like the coffee,” Tally-Wally said.

“No one likes the coffee,” Marla said.

What was wrong with my coffee?

“Forget the coffee,” Charlene said. “Another person’s been murdered. Something stinks at that optometry office.”

“Obviously,” Marla said, “that receptionist they fired is the killer.”

“Office manager,” I corrected absently. Maybe I should get better coffee.

“I heard Cannon was hit with a paperweight from that glass shop,” Tally-Wally said. “Maybe the glassblower did it.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Charlene glanced at me. I’d shown her the photos I’d taken and told her about the murder weapon, but she’d never blab. He hadn’t heard it from Charlene.

“Old Thistleblossom’s been telling people all over town,” Tally-Wally said.

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