Free Worst Laid Plans (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 1) by Claire Robyns

already run some basic toxicology tests and found nothing, but Detective Bishop has requested the full spectrum.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means they’re testing for poisons,” Jenna piped in.
    My stomach pulled tight. “Detective Bishop thinks Ms Daggon was murdered?”
    “Don’t let’s jump the gun, now,” Jack said. “Detective Bishop is just being thorough.”
    The waitress’s arrival cut our conversation short.
    I grabbed a menu, grateful to push Ms Daggon aside for the moment. I hated the idea of her being murdered, of course. But I hated the idea of someone I might know being a murderer more.
    My phone went off in my coat pocket while we placed our orders, the quiet swoosh of an arrow slicing air.
    Jenna waited until the waitress had flashed her toothy smile and sauntered off before quizzing, “You still have Joe’s ring tone set to Cupid’s bow?”
    I held onto my menu, picking at the laminated edge. “It’s unobtrusive and easy to ignore.”
    Which was important, as I had no intention of blocking or declining Joe’s calls. I wanted him to feel as if they were being swallowed into a black abyss, kind of how he’d made me feel.
    “I’m sorry you’re going through all that,” Jack said, offering me his goofy smile. “Jenna told me.”
    “I left out the pertinent details,” Jenna alerted me.
    Jack didn’t seem bothered by her admission, but I thought of that look he’d given Jenna earlier and made a quick decision.
    “Since this table has a one-night moratorium on gabbing, I don’t mind sharing,” I said, and went on to give him the abbreviated version of what my no-good soon-to-be-ex cheating husband had done.

 
     
     
    SIX
     
     
    Some days just start out right. Maybe it was all the bran instead of my customary almond croissant for breakfast. Dressed in sweats, a fleece hoodie and running shoes, and all filled up on good intentions, I jogged in place to loosen my muscles. The squall last night had blown out and the lake was smooth as glass, reflecting the morning sunlight that shone down from a cloudless powdery blue sky.
    I took off at a sprint down the lake trail, breathing in the scent of pine from the woods that flanked my left. Ponytail flapping, arms and legs pumping, I was an eco-friendly machine.
    Two minutes later, I was bent double, gasping for oxygen and clutching the pain in my side. Maybe not a machine quite yet, but I’d get there. I strolled the rest of the way into town, consoling myself with catch-phrases like Baby steps and Rome wasn’t built in a day.
    I had nothing on my agenda, except to grab a coffee and maybe swing by The Vine.
    And think about my options, I supposed.
    I didn’t know if Chintilly would use her influence with the producers to get me fired, but it didn’t matter, I wasn’t going back to The Rambler.
    The static image of Joe and Chintilly burned into the back of my skull. Joe propped against the dressing table, Chintilly standing between his parted thighs, her robe falling off her shoulders, his palm cupping one of her perky breasts…
    I blinked and grimaced and shook my head until the image scattered. This was the problem with thinking about my future, the past kept sneaking in.
    Maybe I’d just grab that coffee and spend the morning visualizing the look on Joe’s face when he discovered how I’d invested his savings.
    I took a leisurely walk down Main Road, window-browsing as I went. I was paused outside Binneman’s Books when I saw Mrs Colby step out of Cuppa-Cake. I hadn’t seen her since the incident with Ms Daggon and Muffins last Christmas, but it seemed the intervening months hadn’t done much to cheer her spirits. The shawl she wore over her paisley shift dress was clutched tight around her stooped shoulders and she walked at a quick shuffle, her eyes on the pavement.
    I waved and called out, “Hello, Mrs Colby, how are you?”
    She glanced up, saw me, and immediately averted her gaze.
    I smiled uncertainly. “Mrs