Free Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder by Marilyn Rausch, Mary Donlon Page A

face turned pale. John whispered, “What is it?”
    She shook her head and continued to listen to the detective. After a minute, she said, “Okay, we’ll be right there.” She flipped the phone shut.
    “What’s happened? Bad news?”
    Jo swallowed and looked off into space. “It’s … it’s Sid. And his wife. They were found in the medical examiner’s offices.” She shook her head, as if to clear it of a mental image.
    John’s eyes widened. “Found? What do you mean, found? Jo, what’s going on?”
    Tears filled Jo’s eyes. She looked at John and said, “They’ve been murdered.”
    His body moved of its own accord. John came around to the other side of the table and pulled Jo to her feet. Wrapping her in his arms, he held her close. He could feel Jo trembling in his embrace.
    Their waiter stopped by and asked if there was anything he could do to help. Her hands on his chest, Jo pushed away from John. She angrily brushed at the tears in her eyes. She looked at the waiter and shook her head. “We’ll take the check, please.”
     
     

Chapter Nine
    The Bun
    Last Week of November
     
    On the Monday morning after Thanksgiving a pickup truck occupied every parking space on Main Street. Half of them were Fords and half Dodges. The Lutherans owned the Fords, and the Catholics the Dodges. It had nothing to do with religious doctrine and everything to do with the church membership of the town’s two auto dealers. The trucks were all half-ton behemoths with loaded beds … bales of hay, sacks of feed, deer hunting gear, generators … and with snow plow blades on the front. A couple of them were suspended on gigantic tires, screaming Monster Truck Rally. Among them was parked Chip’s Volvo, a ninety-eight-pound weakling at a heavyweight wrestling tournament.
    Chip sat at his usual table-for-two in the corner where he had a full view of the door and the dining room. It was next to the Bun’s unisex restroom. Chip himself had yet to use the cafe’s facilities. His mother had instilled in him a fear and dread of public bathrooms, and he avoided them unless absolutely necessary. Male visitors to the restroom gave him a brief nod and females a nervous smile. He was no longer a stranger, but he felt like the patrons viewed him as an oddity.
    Iver lumbered into the café and took the vacant seat at Chip’s table, just as Bernice hustled by with a carafe of coffee in one hand and a mammoth cinnamon roll in the other. The aromas of cinnamon and vanilla wafted across the table.
    “The usual for you two?”
    “You know, I think I’ll have to succumb to one of those cinnamon rolls instead of my wheat toast this morning,” said Chip.
    “Make that three,” said Iver, laughing as he gave Bernice a wink.
    “Hey, Iver, where’s Mabel this morning?” asked Chip.
    “She’s real sick. Thinks it might be that pig flu even though she got all those shots. You’ll never get no needle near me. I told her, you get those shots and you’re sure to get sick, but the woman won’t listen to me.”
    “That’s too bad, Iver. Maybe it’s just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. I guess flu season is upon us. Hope you don’t catch it, too.”
    “Nah, I’m healthy as a horse.”
    Chip surveyed the crowded tables. “What’s going on around here? Why does it look like every farmer in the county is here? And why aren’t the AgriDynamics guys here today?”
    “Where you been, boy? Haven’t you heard what’s happening? You know about Owen Hanson being beat up. It’s got the AgriDynamics guys skittish. None of them want to get their face rearranged and their ribs poked into their lungs like Owen’s, and Owen isn’t saying anything, especially with that broken jaw. And then there’s Jethro, Oscar Nelson’s prize bull. That’s what the farmers are all jawing about.”
    Chip didn’t know what to make of that. “What’s the story with the bull?”
    “Remember that emergency that Doc had on Thanksgiving? It was about