Free Murder On the Rocks by Karen MacInerney

head and wagged a plump, manicured finger at me.
    “It’s about time you showed up. I’ve been worried sick about you!”
    “Why didn’t you just call?” I asked. “Everyone else has.”
    Charlene groaned. “Phone’s out of order. Again. The storm must have knocked the line down.” Her eyes slid to the box I held, and her face lit up. “Ooh, goodies!” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I suppose you think because you brought food I’ll have to forgive you? Hand them over.”

    I passed her the box and pulled up a stool at the counter. She ripped open the container and looked up, disappointed. “No cookies?”
    “We ate them all, remember?”
    “And you didn’t bake more?”
    “Maybe I’ll get a batch out tomorrow.”
    Charlene sighed. “It’s probably for the best. I like scones, but not as much as I like cookies. At least I won’t eat them all before I can sell them.”
    “Scones?” A grizzled head popped up from the purple armchair next to the front window. It was Eleazer White, Claudette’s husband and the local boat builder. He had been hunched down so far in the chair I hadn’t noticed him. Eleazer was a regular at Charlene’s; today he was dressed in worn overalls and a faded plaid shirt, and as always, he looked like he’d been on the island since the dawn of time. “What kind?” he asked.
    “Cranberry walnut,” I said.
    “I’ll take two.” His brown eyes were mischievous under bristly gray eyebrows. “Just promise me you won’t tell Claudette.”
    “We promise,” said Charlene, laying out two scones on a china plate. She set the plate down next to the half-full teacup on the table beside Eleazer’s chair and pulled up a stool next to me, engulfing me in a wave of perfume. “Would you believe she made me eat sugarless cranberry pie last night?” Eleazer said.
    “Sugarless cranberry pie?” Charlene made a face. “Another diet?”
    “Ayuh,” said Eleazer resignedly. “They never work, you know. If anything, she just gets fatter.”

    “That explains the six pounds of grapefruit she bought last week,” Charlene said, fishing a nail file out of her pocket and smoothing a rough edge on one of her raspberry-painted nails.
    “I’ll say one thing for her, though … she doesn’t give up.” Eleazer shook his head and started in on a scone.
    “By the way, Charlene, what happened to your roses?” I asked.
    Charlene’s face darkened. “Those damned goats again.” She looked over toward Eleazer. “Sorry, Eli.”
    “Don’t apologize to me,” he said, lifting up an arm and displaying a ragged shirt cuff. “They got out while the wash was on the line the other day. Half my clothes have holes in ‘em.”
    “At least it’ll keep you cool this summer,” I laughed.
    “Aye, that’s true,” he said. “But you should see my undershorts,” he continued, eyes twinkling. “I can’t figure out which holes are for my legs.” He shook his head again. “Claudette was out rounding them up again the other night. Came home soaked to the bone.” He munched contemplatively for a minute. “I love her, I do,” he said. “I just wish she didn’t come with goats attached.”
    “Or sugarless cranberry pie,” I added.
    He winced. “That too.” He took another huge bite of scone, smiling as he chewed. I turned to Charlene.
    She examined her nails and slid the file back into her pocket. “So,” she said, leaning forward on her stool. “You fell off a cliff and found Bernard Katz dead, and you’re just now coming to see me.”
    “It’s been a busy day,” I said.
    “You’re telling me. This is the quietest the store has been since that helicopter started swooping around the island. Everyone who wasn’t out investigating in person came here. They finally all had to go home and start dinner.” She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “I hear your boyfriend came and saved you.”

    I flushed. “He’s not my boyfriend. Remember? You told me he’s dating a woman in