Free Sealed with a Kill by Lucy Lawrence

have.”
    “Well, brace yourself,” Tenley said. “Tomorrow night is ladies’ night and we’re going.”
    “Can I get in?” Brenna asked.
    “I’m a lifetime member, and you’re my guest,” Tenley said. “No sweat.”
    Brenna thought about Nate and how they wouldn’t be having their talk anytime soon. A tiny sigh escaped her, but she curved her lips into a smile for Tenley’s sake. She’d been waiting for Nate to notice her for two years; surely she could wait another two days.
     
    Brenna was standing in line at Stan’s Diner, waiting to see what creation he made out of her latte today. A few days ago, he had shaped her froth into a star dusted with nutmeg—a work of art, truly.
    She was so busy watching Stan that it took her a moment to notice that someone was standing behind her. This would not be a problem if the person were outside of her personal space bubble. But given that she could feel hot breath on the back of her neck, the person was clearly not respecting the two-foot boundary she liked to maintain.
    She turned to find Ed Johnson, looking more like a plucked chicken than ever, holding a small recorder, which he promptly shoved in her face.
    “Ms. Brenna Miller, I have a few questions for you,” he said.
    “Not now, Ed.” Brenna made her voice as chilly as an icicle on an eave—and just as pointy.
    “Aw, come on,” he whined. “It’s just a few questions. Preston won’t let me near his inn or any of his leaf peepers, and the Morse family set their dog on me. I need a quote.”
    “Why me?” she asked.
    “Because you found the body,” he said. “That’s news.”
    Stan placed Brenna’s to-go cup on the counter in front of her. She glanced at it and saw that the froth was shaped into a chicken leg. She looked up at him, and the former navy sailor winked at her. So, she wasn’t the only one who thought Ed resembled a naked fowl.
    She paid for her coffee and left a hefty tip for the genius that was Stan.
    “All right, Ed; one question,” she said.
    “Just one?” he asked.
    “Yep, and there you go. That answers your question,” she said. She snapped a plastic lid on her cup and headed toward the door.
    “That’s not fair,” he protested, following her.
    “Life’s not fair, Ed. Harvey Lester could tell you that,” she said.
    “Speaking of Harvey, what was it like to find his cold, stiff corpse sealed up in a pile of leaves?”
    Brenna stopped walking. The town was moving around them as if in slow motion. She could see Lillian Page emptying the book drop in front of the library. Sarah Buttercomb was drawing today’s special on the whiteboard outside of her bakery. Bart Thompson, who worked at the hardware store, was helping Betty Cartwright-Hanratty load paint cans into the back of her Volvo.
    She was aware of them all but not. Images of the body in the leaves came back to her in a rush, and she sucked in a breath at the gruesome impact. Someone had shot Harvey Lester, and whoever it was, was walking around among them. Brenna was sure of it.
    “Frightening,” she said. “It was frightening.”
    A flash popped, and Brenna blinked. Ed had snapped her picture while she was thinking about the murder.
    “Ed!” she cried. “That was uncool.”
    “Oh, look at the time,” he said, and glanced at his watch while shoving his digital recorder into his pocket, as if afraid she might snatch it. “Gotta go. I’m on deadline.”
    Brenna debated throwing her latte at him, but if she missed, she’d be even angrier that she wasted a fabulous cup of coffee on him.
    She pushed open the door to Vintage Papers. Tenley was consulting with a customer who wanted to order wedding invitations. There were three other customers in the shop who were browsing, so Brenna dumped her jacket and purse in the back and came out to see if she could assist anyone.
    They stayed busy up until lunch, when Tenley gratefully sank into a chair at the worktable and put her feet up.
    “I didn’t sleep at all