Free Paper-Thin Alibi by Mary Ellen Hughes Page A

rewards later as it inspires them to try new things.”

    “I hope so.” Jo told Carrie about Meg Boyer having come by to help out in Ina Mae’s place.

    “Good for her,” Carrie said. “She seems to be livening up a bit—taking that job at Bert and Ruth’s, for one thing, after being pretty much of a recluse from the time she and her husband moved here. Some people wondered if she had a chronic illness of sorts, but I think it may have been a kind of depression. I’m glad to see her starting to come out of it.”

    “Was she unhappy over moving away from her home-town?” Jo remembered getting that feeling when Meg had indicated the move had been more her husband’s choice than hers.

    “I don’t know,” Carrie said. “And I feel bad for not trying harder to get to know her. Ah-choo! ”

    “Bless you. Did you call your doctor?”

    “Not yet. Oh, someone’s coming in.” Jo heard the soft ding of her shop’s bell. “I’d better go,” Carrie said, “but I was calling to say Charlie and Dan will be there a little after six to help you dismantle your display cases.”

    “Great. And Carrie, call your doctor.”

    “I will if you’ll call Russ.”

    “Take care of your customer, Carrie. See you later.”

    Jo had a flurry of decent last-minute sales, which was gratifying. It seemed as though the really serious shoppers had meticulously checked over the entire show for the last three days, comparing and mulling things over before making their final purchases. She recognized a couple of returning customers, women with whom she had spent a considerable amount of time discussing necklaces and pins.

    When they’d wandered off with vague promises of returning she hadn’t really counted on seeing them again, but was pleasantly surprised when they reappeared, credit cards in hand.

    She was happy, then, to see she had considerably less merchandise to take home than she had brought to the show, though she wasn’t sure yet if she’d actually managed to earn back her expenses and make a profit. Less merchandise, however, at least meant less to pack, and she had made significant progress toward that effort by the time Carrie’s husband and son arrived.

    “Wow, you did great, Aunt Jo,” Charlie said, eyeing Jo’s near-empty cases.

    Jo laughed. “Not that great, Charlie. I was the one, not my customers, who emptied most of this out. Hi, Dan. I’ll have the rest of these things out of the front case in a minute.”

    “Take your time.” Dan rested a hand on his son’s shoulder, a simple gesture that made Jo smile, pleased to see that small sign of the easy camaraderie that had developed between the two. It wasn’t all that long ago that their father-son relationship had been highly strained, and both pairs of hands would have been shoved deep into their respective pockets, shoulders hunched.

    Charlie shifted uneasily as he glanced over at Linda’s closed-off booth, aware, so far, only of her death and not of any of the later-developing details Jo had shared with Carrie. If he had known it was murder, Jo was sure he’d be peppering her with questions, all squeamishness replaced with normal fifteen-year-old curiosity and excitement. She decided to let the squeamishness prevail for now in the interests of packing up quickly and heading home. She was looking forward to the solitude and peace she would find there.

    When Jo gave the all-clear signal, the duo set about dismantling the cases that Dan had built for easy mobility, and one by one they carried them out to his truck while Jo loaded up her own car with the smaller boxes.

    Michicomi itself was dismantling as well, and Jo, seeing vans and trailers being packed and readied to take off for parts unknown, realized that Linda’s killer might also be slipping away, with only herself remaining within Sheriff Franklin’s reach. On her return to her near-empty booth, therefore, Jo walked over to speak to Gabe.

    “Would you mind giving me a way to