Free Going Through the Notions (A Deadly Notions Mystery) by Cate Price Page B

regular auction if they wanted.” Martha trailed her fingers over her upswept hair, where a few red tendrils were escaping.
    Eleanor plucked a biscuit from the tin. “That grandmother was an old hag. Bet they couldn’t wait to get rid of her, and her stuff, too.”
    “That’s not all,” I said. “Some crazed woman called Fiona Adams showed up at the auction house this morning, claiming the pens belonged to her dead father. His new wife sent them here instead of auctioning them off in New York. The whole thing seems very strange to me.”
    I handed Martha a cup of coffee.
    “Thank you, Daisy. The plot thickens, eh? And now I hear Vikki, the bartender over at the pub, is trying to backtrack, saying Angus wasn’t
that
drunk. Probably worried about the liability. Too bad she already told everyone how smashed he was. That woman can’t keep her mouth shut about anything.”
    Eleanor rolled her eyes at me, and I hid a smile. I loved Martha, but she couldn’t keep anything to herself either. I’d learned the hard way not to tell her any deep dark secrets. Those I reserved for Eleanor.
    “Look, guys, Betty is still going ahead with the auction this weekend,” I said. “We have to help her out. I’m going to ask Patsy to do the bid calling, and Joe will move the heavy stuff, but we’ll need someone to run the snack counter like Betty usually does, because she’ll be busy overseeing and—”
    “Snack counter! I call the snack counter.” Martha raised an arm in the air.
    “And I’ll take the cold hard cash.” Eleanor drained her mug. “Good coffee as always, Daisy. You know how I like my coffee. Like ah like my men. Hot, black, and strong,” she murmured in her best Mae West imitation, garnering a few interested glances from the men over at the dice game.
    Martha nodded toward the bistro table. “I was thinking we could put a mini television over there, volume on low, of course, so the men could watch the baseball games and—”
    “Jiminy Cricket, don’t make it
too
comfortable for them,” Eleanor protested. “How are we supposed to gossip about the male population of this village if they’re hanging around here? Besides, they have Tony Z’s.”
    I turned off the coffee machine. “I’ve always wondered how Tony stays in business at ten dollars a person. I don’t think he’s changed his prices since 1970.”
    “Yes, but think about how often guys need a haircut,” Eleanor pointed out. “Some of them come here every single week.”
    “True. And I guess he’s such a character that he has a loyal clientele who make it a point to travel to see him. It’s like the men’s own version of Sometimes a Great Notion.”
    “Exactly. So they don’t need to horn in on our spot.”
    After Martha and Eleanor left, and the men disappeared, I called Detective Ramsbottom. “A woman named Fiona Adams was at the auction house today, claiming the stolen pens belong to her.”
    “Yeah? That nutcase tortured me for the best part of Sunday. So what?”
    “Well, have you checked out her story?”
    “There were no high-heeled footprints in the mud around Jimmy’s barn, if that’s what you’re getting at. Oh, wait. You think she whacked him to death with her diamond ring?” He laughed until he started coughing.
    I wanted to smash the phone against the counter. “And another thing. Apparently the Perkinses are very angry about a sale that Angus handled for their grandmother’s estate about a year ago. Jimmy was the one that recommended Angus for the job. Perhaps you should consider looking into their whereabouts on the morning of the murder?”
    “You think those boys killed
someone else
to get revenge on Backstead?” I could hear Ramsbottom eating. Perhaps a foot-long meatball hoagie with an extra large side of fries.
    At the thought of French fries, my stomach grumbled.
    “I don’t know. Sounds like you’re clutching at straws, Mrs. Daly.”
    “Buchanan.” Even as I corrected him, I sighed. My theories