Free A Crusty Murder by J. M. Griffin Page A

while later. People wandered onto the sidewalk, going in various directions. We left the car and stood near the exit, waiting for the woman to appear. When she came out, BettyJo approached her.
    “Hi, my name is BettyJo. I was wondering if I know you from somewhere. You look awfully familiar.”
    The woman stopped, peered at BettyJo, taking in her attire in one glance. BettyJo’s couture and panache had always impressed me, so I knew it would do the same to this woman. Especially, if she was on the take or if she was a scammer.
    “Sweetheart, I can be anyone you want me to be. Otherwise, get lost.” The woman dragged a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, lit one, and blew the smoke into BettyJo’s face.
    Coughing and choking, BettyJo stepped back, waving away from the offending smoke fumes. “What’s your name?” she asked again.
    “Linda Spear. What’s it to ya?” the woman snapped as she exhaled another lungful of smoke.
    Not to be put off, BettyJo asked, “Do you know a woman named Marion Seever?”
    The woman gave the impression she was searching her memory. Then she answered, “Nope, never knew of her. Would you like me to be Marion what’s-her-name, deary?”
    “N-no, thanks, though.” BettyJo backed away, grabbed my arm, and said it was time to go.
    The woman’s throaty laughter followed us to the car. We got in and I drove away as fast as I could. At the end of Market Street, I took a left and headed toward Wickendon Street.
    I’d parked the car and mentioned we should stop in at Mack & Mutt’s. BettyJo said she wasn’t hungry, but I insisted. She thought about it for a second and then agreed.
    We ordered calzones, got our drinks, and took a seat in the tight quartered eatery. We were nestled at the last table in the corner of the room, bordered by two huge windows at both corners of the building. Sunlight brightened the room, and the street was busy with shoppers on foot. It was a perfect people-watching spot.
    Our number was called. I assured BettyJo that I’d retrieve the sandwiches from the counter. There were no waiters here, just order and pick-up. It reminded me of Panera Bread, where you order and wait to pick up the food from the other end of the counter.
    When I lifted the tray with our lunch on it, Bill, the second half of Mack & Mutt’s, asked in a whisper if I’d heard that Sondra was dead. I nodded and said I’d come by later when he closed up for the day. He grinned and said, “That’ll be around nine tonight. We don’t have the luxury of your shop hours, Mel. Come to the back door. We’ll talk then.”
    I nodded and scurried back to our table. All ears and eyes, BettyJo waited anxiously for me to share what Bill had said.
    “Our businesses are either going to tank or we’ll be swamped with gawkers if we have one more murder,” BettyJo murmured softly.
    I nodded. “You’re right. The media will be all over us in no time flat. I’m surprised they aren’t here already. I’m nervous about that, aren’t you?”
    As BettyJo agreed, she pointed to a recent entrant to the pizzeria. I glanced up to see Aidan wending his way to our table.
    He dipped his head towards us and said, “Lassies, it’s good to see you both. Would you share your table?”
    I nodded and BettyJo pushed a chair out using her foot. Aidan smiled, said he’d order and be back in a second. I watched him amble through the crowded room and wished he was on my menu. Hastily, I pushed the thought from my head and munched the warm, delicious calzone.
    Once Aidan had his pizza, he settled at the table with us. Around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni, he mentioned hearing of Sondra on the news. “Poor lass, it’s a terrible event. Have the police any leads?”
    Our heads shook in unison, and we finished our meal. BettyJo spoke first.
    “I found her. It was terrible, Aidan. She’d been strangled and a muffin was stuffed in her mouth,” BettyJo whispered with a shiver.
    Aidan laid his hand on BettyJo’s