No Mallets Intended by Hamilton Victoria

Author:Hamilton, Victoria [Hamilton, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, General, Mystery: Cozy - Vintage Cookware Collector - Michigan, Fiction
ISBN: 9780425271391
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2014-11-04T08:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

JAYMIE’S HEART THUDDED, and then beat faster; she felt sick, but she was not going to get hysterical. “How much blood? Are we talking a scratch, or…” She shook her head and caught her breath. She thought of what the police chief had said about the killer being splattered with blood. “Was your sweater splattered or dripping or… or what?”

The older woman swayed in her chair and moaned.

“Cynthia, relax.” Jaymie hopped over to the sink and filled a tumbler with cold water. “Have a drink and take a deep breath,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite her. “What exactly are you saying? What do you think happened that you had blood on you? And where were you?”

Cynthia shivered, her teeth chattering with cold or shock. Jaymie turned up the thermostat, then retrieved a vintage granny square afghan from the living room section of the shop and draped it around Cynthia’s shoulders, tucking her in, trying to help her get warm.

The woman’s eyes held a bleak expression. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I just don’t know!”

Okay, first things first. Perhaps Jaymie should be advising a trip to the police station, but there was time for that, if it was necessary. “Where is the sweater now?”

“Do you want to see it?”

Jaymie hesitated, but then her resolve crystallized and she nodded. “Yes, I do. Where is it?”

“Here, in the shop. I didn’t want to leave it at home, but I didn’t know how to get rid of it. I hadn’t… I hadn’t thought anything until I heard about Theo. That’s when I brought it here… I just couldn’t leave it in my house!” Her voice rose to a hysterical note, and Jaymie touched her arm to reassure her. She instantly calmed. “I’ll get it.” She disappeared from the kitchen and returned carrying a pale pink cashmere polo-neck sweater.

Jaymie took it from her, trying to quell the shaking of her own hands. This was a lot to take in; cool, calm, collected, yoga-teaching Cynthia Turbridge, whom she had always admired for her poise and serenity, had some darkness in her past, it appeared, from the casual mention of drinking binges and DUIs. Her grandmother had always said still waters run deep, and it appeared in this case the aphorism was true.

But if the last year had taught her anything, it was that people were not always who you thought they were. Joel’s defection and her climb back from the depths of heartbreak had begun her transformation into a more realistic woman. Finding a few dead bodies along the way had toughened her, too. A little blood was not going to shock her. As long as it was a little blood. She laid the soft, luxurious sweater on the table and looked it over.

There was what appeared to be blood on it, true, but it was limited to one sleeve at the ribbed wrist and some along the ribbed waistband. There was a hint of the blood on the

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