Free An Appetite for Murder by Lucy Burdette Page A

tears—­I was that relieved to see him. I slid into the passenger seat and began filling him in on the day’s debacle. Sniffling all the way through, of course. I’d cried more over the past two days than I had in years. I didn’t like it one bit. As we drove past Voltaire’s bookstore on the corner of Eaton, my mother called.
    “Hi, Mom,” I said, trying to make my voice sound light and cheerful. “Eric and I were just headed out for a drink.” I waved crossed fingers at Eric.
    “You sound a little funny, Hayley,” she said. “Are you coming down with a cold?”
    This time my problems were too close to the surface to contain and I spilled out most of the story. Includingthe bit about the poisoned pie and my article, because what was the point of holding anything back now?
    “Come home,” Mom said. “I’ve got your room ready. I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed tonight. And make some cookies. It’s almost Thanksgiving anyway. Everyone’s hiring holiday help. You can probably get your job back at the bookstore—­just for the time being while you figure out the next step.”
    She’d always been big on my coming home while I identified the next direction my life should take. She’ll be saying the same thing when she’s ninety and I’m seventy and I’m mad at my husband because he forgot to take out the trash. If I ever snagged a husband. Prospects looked dim right now.
    “I can’t come home. I’ve been told not to leave the island,” I said. Better to tell her that than try to explain what a complete loser I felt like at the moment. And how landing this food critic job and figuring out a way to stay in town was the only path I could see to resuscitate my battered self-­esteem. And how I’d watched her struggle with her own self-­confidence my entire life because she didn’t have a focus outside of me and Dad. And food. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    Eric double-­parked alongside my scooter and shifted into neutral.
    “I guess she’s right,” I told him. “There’s not much point in hanging around here, really.”
    Eric just looked at me. “At what point did your mother give up on her life?” he asked finally. “Even younger than you, right?”
    I started to protest. “Maybe she didn’t give up. Maybe it was totally the right thing for her to become a housewife and mother. Not everyone can be a rock star. And to tell you the truth, she was a rock star as a parent.” I blinked and squared my shoulders.
    He gave me the inscrutable shrink look that means he believes I’m copping out.
    “I know. I know. I have to figure out whether the universe is telling me to pack up and go home, or whether it’s just the voice of my neurotic inner child, clamoring for a life path that’s a little easier.”
    He busted out laughing. “That’s not the way I would have put it, but you definitely got the concept.”
    My phone chirped again and the number from my father’s office flashed onto the screen. I heaved a dramatic sigh and accepted the call.
    “Hayley Catherine,” he said. “Your mother informed me that you’ve been arrested.”
    “I wasn’t arrested, Dad. There was a small misunderstanding and I was invited down to the police station to straighten things out.” I screwed up my face and stuck my tongue out at Eric, who was rolling his eyes at my description.
    “I agree with your mother this time,” he continued. “It’s time to come home and get a real job. You’re wasting your talents and your education down there. Do you need money for a lawyer? Or a ticket home?”
    I assured him that things were under control and that I’d seriously consider his input and, yes, let him know the instant I needed legal advice. Because his nightmare was having someone in his family choose an attorneybased on an ad in the Yellow Pages and then end up in jail for half a lifetime after they were too dumb to use his connections. I hadn’t bothered to tell him that no one my age would even