Free Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1) by Patricia Lee Macomber Page B

spatter of coffee (quite old). Rachel pushed her plate farther down the counter and settled herself onto a stool.
    “Afternoon, Sheriff,” she said right before she shoved a huge forkful of hash browns into her mouth.
    “Hey, Rachel.” Diane appeared with a menu, which she unfolded right into his hand. “Thank you…I’m afraid I don’t know your name. I know everyone else in town, but I do not know you.”
    “Diane. I’m new here.” She smiled her best little-girl smile. “Can I get you something to drink, Sheriff?”
    “A sweet tea would be wonderful. Thank you, Diane.” He watched her walk away, though in a more chaste way than one might have expected.
    “How’s things, Sheriff?” Rachel said with a full mouth.
    “Things are good.” He began feeling around in his breast pocket, pulling a face as he obviously searched for something. “I wonder if you might recognize this man.” He finally succeeded in producing a picture, slid it across the counter to her.
    Rachel picked up the picture, expecting the worst. It was dark and grainy but the man’s face was fairly clear. He had a scruffy beard and dark eyes. His unruly blonde hair couldn’t be contained in his ample hoodie. The worst of her fears were allayed, however, when she realized that it wasn’t Mike in the picture.
    “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Certainly not in here. Who is he?”
    Dooley leaned over to retrieve the picture and shoved it back in his pocket. “He might be a person of interest in the cemetery murder. John Tarver’s delivery truck broke down late last night and while he was waiting for the tow truck, he spotted that fella there lurking around the back fence of the cemetery, on the inside. He managed to sneak this picture on his cell phone and when he saw it again this morning, he realized that he’d seen this same man walking out of the cemetery on the night that Horace was killed.”
    “And Tarver didn’t recognize him either?”
    “Nopes. Say, any chance I can get a grilled cheese and tomato soup out here?” Dooley changed the subject without shame. His direct stare was telling.
    “I’ve got it, Rach.” Diane disappeared into the kitchen, her feet shuffling as she moved.
    “So nobody knows who this guy is?” Rachel tried again.
    “Somebody knows who he is. I just haven’t found that somebody yet.” Dooley smiled and rattled the ice in his empty glass.
    Rachel took the glass into the kitchen to refill it, then brought it back, serving it up with a flourish. “You never did say how Horace was killed.”
    “No, I did not.” Dooley turned his attention to the crease in his pants and said nothing more.
    “You know, if you’d share some of the details of the case with me, I might be able to help you.”
    Dooley laughed. The sound of it was unsettling in the quiet diner and the spirit of it was just something short of mocking. “You? Help me solve a case?” He laughed again and this time, the sound was awkward even for him. “Rachel, I can’t have an amateur tromping through my evidence and getting in the way of my boys.”
    There was a burning in her gut and her head began to throb with a slow-boiling anger. “Oh, really? Well, what if I told you that this amateur has already solved the bank robbery. I know exactly who did it.”
    Diane appeared at that exact moment. She set the bowl and plate down in front of Dooley with a bit more noise than she had intended, then leaned in to whisper to Rachel. “Rick says get in the kitchen now.”
    Rachel’s eyes were still locked in mortal combat with Dooley’s steely gaze. She hadn’t blinked, hadn’t cocked so much as a grin at him. She took a deep breath, ignoring Diane with every fiber of her being. Then she spotted Rick out of her peripheral vision, standing in the kitchen window and looking like he was about to storm Normandy. She slid off the stool and made tracks for the kitchen.
    “What are you doing?” he growled, grabbing her arm and