Free Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) by Kathy Aarons Page B

wanted to have a drink, shoot some pool, or eat the best double-stuffed potato skins in Maryland.
    Jake Hale was the owner and regular bartender who could be in a commercial for any product that wanted the image of an easygoing handsome guy going about his business in a flannel shirt and worn jeans.
    We walked in, the scent of stale beer and peanuts washing over us. “Walk Like a Man” played on the old-fashioned jukebox. Conversation in the whole place dribbled to a halt before it exploded, as two of Jake’s cousins rushed toward us, both with high ponytails normally seen on toddlers.
    “Are you guys going to investigate this murder too?” one of the cousins asked, holding on to my arm, at the same time the other said, “Did you do it?” earning a fierce scowl from the first.
    Jake was plagued with about a million female cousins who all looked alike, and he always had a few working for him.
    The second cousin stood in front of Erica. “I’m totally kidding. I’m sure you’ll do a better job than that state police guy, but can you introduce me to him? He’s just my type. Rugged and doesn’t talk much. I bet he’s a tiger in bed.”
    Erica recovered faster than I did. “We can’t possibly do a better job than the state police with all of their resources. And I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about the detective’s private life.”
    Neither of them realized she hadn’t answered their question about whether or not we were investigating. Or if we’d done it.
    “I think that pottery really is cursed, like their grandma Rose said.” The first one moved her shoulders in an exaggeratedshudder as if enjoying the thought. “I bet beetles ate him, like in
The Mummy,
for disturbing the grave.”
    “Those were scarabs,” Erica said. “They don’t attack people. And the professor didn’t—” She stopped, maybe realizing there were way too many things wrong with what the cousin had said and she couldn’t fix them all.
    The other cousin tossed her hand towel over her shoulder. “I think it was one of them Mayan gods or something. It came back from the dead to protest all that 2012 end of the world stuff.”
    “Maya,” Erica corrected.
    I sent her an exasperated look, even though I should’ve been used to it by now.
    “Which god?” Erica asked politely, as if the girl really knew what she was talking about.
    “I don’t know,” she said. “That chicken guy maybe?”
    “Chichen Itza?” Erica tried.
    The cousin got distracted by a rumpled man coming into the bar from the poolroom and dropped my arm. “Ah, sweetie, you out already?” She completed an elaborate hair flip and went over to console him.
    Jake met us at the end of the bar with a Pearl Necklace beer for me and a glass of chardonnay for Erica. “Leave ’em be,” he told cousin number two, who went back to cleaning tables. Jake shook his head. “Don’t mind them. They spend too much time watching reality TV.” He tapped the beer bottle and asked me. “You tried this yet?” Jake knew I was a fan of the local breweries.
    “Isn’t it made out of oysters or something?” I asked.
    “Just give it a shot,” he said. “Money-back guarantee.”
    I took a sip. “This is awesome.” I pointed the glass atJake’s T-shirt, which read
Nobody trains to ride the pine.
Of course, he had his trademark open plaid flannel shirt over it. “What does that mean?”
    “You know,” he said. “The bench is made of pine. Nobody trains to sit on the bench.” He put some used glasses in a small tub behind the bar. “Trouble seems to be following you girls around lately.”
    “Hey!” I said, offended. “It’s been months since we had any trouble. And this has nothing to do with us.”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “You guys are up there in the betting pool.”
    “These people are already gambling on who killed the professor?” I asked.
    “These people would gamble on who had to go to the bathroom first if I let them,” Jake