Free A Shattering Crime by Jennifer McAndrews

“Here you go, Diana. All set.”
    â€œThank God,” she muttered. She took the shoppingbag from the counter, eased out from the corner space she had been tucked into. “Have a nice day, gentlemen.”
    Tom sat straighter. “You can’t go yet. You didn’t tell us if Terry’s right or not. Was David Rayburn poisoned or wasn’t he?”
    Her smile was just the slightest bit evil and a big bit smug. “At this time we have no definitive cause of death.” She nodded a brief good-bye and took a few steps toward the exit, which put her even with where I sat. “Pour House tonight?” she asked.
    â€œAbsolutely,” I assured her.
    I thought a measure of tension left her shoulders before she continued on her way out of the luncheonette and onto the sidewalk. When she was past the window and headed for the bakery, I turned to Terry. “Do you really think Rayburn was poisoned?”
    â€œWhat do you think?” he countered. “Tom speaks pretty highly of your skills as a sleuth.”
    I nearly choked on my coffee. “I don’t have any skills,” I said. “Not really. Not as a sleuth, I mean. I just have a habit of being in the right place with the wrong people.”
    He gave me a little sideways smile. “That’s not a bad habit to have for a detective.”
    I held up both hands, palms out. I don’t know if I was signaling surrender or hoping to create some invisible barrier that would keep his words away. “Oh no. No thanks. I have a job. I have several jobs. And none of them involve encountering criminals.”
    Grace laughed, picked up a folded newspaper that I knew from long experience was open to the crossword puzzle. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Georgia. Younever know who’s sitting in the dark at your granddad’s movie house.”
    â€œOh, thanks,” I said as the bell over the door jingled. “That fills me with all kinds of confidence.”
    â€œGeorgia.”
    My mother’s voice cut through me like a cold shard. There was a certain note her voice hit only when I did something she was going to make me regret, which in the past had ranged anywhere from cutting my own hair to staying out past curfew. A long time past curfew.
    I looked over my shoulder to where she had come to stand behind me.
    â€œThe police are inside the bakery, and one of them is looking for you. Care to tell me what that’s all about?”

5
    L ife had settled into a comforting routine since last I had to face any member of the Pace County Police Department other than Diana. I wasn’t eager to reintroduce the police into my every day anytime soon. Sure, at some point in the future I would no doubt encounter them when the Heaney case went to trial. Until then, I was content to operate like an average citizen who had no need to keep the number for the precinct listed in her cell phone under frequent contacts. There was also the small matter of one Detective Chris “Chip” Nolan, who, when his invitation to dinner had shocked me speechless, wrongly presumed my silence meant I had no interest. Now, whether I did or didn’t made no difference. I was as committed to Tony as I could be without, you know, declarations and promisesand rings and whatnot. But I hadn’t seen Chip since he had taken my statement after the disowned heir to the Heaney estate had threatened Carrie and me at gunpoint. I was uncertain whether things would be at all awkward between us. And yeah, throw in my mother’s presence for added amusement.
    I gave it my best shot, but there was no convincing her to wait at the luncheonette while I checked in with the police. She walked beside me along the sidewalk, head high, handbag tucked tight under her arm. I might have had a momentary flashback, a long-buried memory of walking with her like this along the halls of yet another unfamiliar school so she could introduce me to yet