Free Plaster and Poison by Jennie Bentley

black shoes, black stockings, a black petticoat with a few really stiff layers peeking out from under the skirt, and a half dozen necklaces, and I’d be ready for New Year’s Eve.
I was so involved in my plans for the dress—or one like it, in case I couldn’t afford John’s—that I didn’t watch where I was going. As a result I walked right into someone coming in the opposite direction, loaded down with boxes and bags. Several of the bags scattered, and I babbled apologies as I started gathering them up.
“It’s no problem,” a familiar voice said. “They’re Christmas gifts for the kids. Nothing breakable.”
I looked up into a pair of blue eyes. “Oh. Hi, Jill. I didn’t recognize you.”
“You weren’t looking at me,” Jill Cortino said, with a grin. “You were staring into space and muttering.”
I blushed. It’s a bad habit, and one I don’t seem able to kick. “Sorry. I just saw this really great vintage dress in John Nickerson’s window, and I was thinking of how I could jazz it up for New Year’s Eve. Of course, I’d probably have to put toilet tissue in the bodice to make it fit. . . .”
“The blue one?” Jill asked. I nodded. “At least you’d be able to get into it. I wasn’t that skinny in elementary school.”
“You’ve also had three kids in four years. Cut yourself some slack.” I handed her the last of the bags.
Jill Cortino is a native Waterfielder and a contemporary—and old girlfriend—of Derek’s. They dated in high school, went to prom together—I’d seen a picture—and then Derek went off to medical school and married Melissa, while Jill studied bookkeeping and stayed single. Everyone assumed she was mourning the loss of Derek, but eventually Peter Cortino moved to town, and things went fast after that. They were married just a few months later. It’s been five years now, and they have three children: Peter, Paul, and—no, not Mary—Pamela.
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
“At home, with my mom. Peter’s minding the business while I’m taking time out to do a little shopping.”
The Cortinos run an auto repair and body shop on the other side of downtown. Peter does the repair and body work, Jill does the books, and they’ve got another mechanic or two working for them during the busy season. I don’t think they’re getting rich, any more than Derek and I are, but we’re all getting by.
“We should do dinner sometime,” I said. “Unless you two are too busy these days.”
Jill shook her head. “Business is slow. It always is in the winter. People are driving their beaters.”
“Huh? ”
She smiled. “Haven’t you noticed how some people keep old cars that they drive only during the winter? Beaters.”
She pronounced it beatahs , like a native down easterner. She added, “People use them instead of their nice cars because of the salt on the roads and the danger of accidents.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I admitted, “but it’s my first winter here. I don’t even have one car yet, let alone two.”
I do know how to drive, and I have a current driver’s license, but I don’t enjoy it. Especially after driving Derek’s truck off the road and into a ditch a couple of months ago. It wasn’t my fault—someone had punctured the brake cables, and things could have turned out a whole lot worse than they did—but it had been scary. I knew I’d have to get a car eventually, but I was putting it off as long as I could.
Jill nodded. “You’ll see a lot of accidents as the weather gets colder and the road conditions worsen. Especially involving the out-of-towners. The college kids from places like Florida or Arizona have never had to drive on ice or snow before, and they don’t know how to do it. That whole horrible thing with Carolyn Tate last month was only the beginning, I’m afraid.”
“I hear the police are still looking for whoever was responsible,” I said.
Jill nodded. “They’ve been back for the third time to ask whether we’ve worked on anything suspicious. Like we wouldn’t have told them already. They even insisted on