Free A Lonely Way to Die: A Utah O'Brien Mystery Novel (Minnesota Mysteries Series Book 2) by Jonni Good Page A

new salvage business going?”
    “The boys took down a barn last week. We got a lot of fine old wood out of it, and some real nice hardware. Not many buyers, yet, though. The new bank notes haven’t really caught on.”
    I nodded. Oscar Krueger and his friend Percy Walborne came up with the idea of printing our own money. Local currencies were becoming popular all over the country, but we didn’t have a lot of local products for people to buy with the notes. Angie didn’t have any locally-grown items on her menu. That meant that she couldn’t accept the local currency, because her suppliers wouldn’t accept them.
    Our Emergency Planning Committee was trying to come up with ways to grow or build more products locally, beyond Pete’s salvaged lumber and the hazelnuts, but we got a late start. In prior years, we spent all our time worrying about the electric grid getting hacked, but it was the banks that got hacked, instead.
     
    Angie put the pot on the burner and turned back to the counter. She moved her magazine to one side and leaned on her elbows in front of me. “The reporters are saying it’s suicide, but you and Mort wouldn’t be looking into it if you didn’t think it was murder. Have you found any clues yet?”
    “I wish. We’re just asking a few questions. Wally asked us to. Sort of. Well, at least he didn’t tell us we couldn’t.”
    She grinned at that. “You should charge him for your time.”
    I gave her a wry smile. “I’m not going to hold my breath,” I said. “What can you tell me about what happened in here yesterday?”
    Angie shrugged. “Not much. Carol Kramer was here first. She chatted with the pastor at the counter for a few minutes. Then she sat down at the booth, and waited until the other woman showed up, the dead one.”
    “The reporters haven’t mentioned the connection with the Price family yet, have they?”
    Pete said, “What connection?”
    I looked at him and made a snap decision. “Sonje McCrae used to be Gwyneth Price, Mildred’s oldest daughter. Mildred is really upset. If people find out, they’ll start calling around to share the news, and pretty soon there’s going to be a hundred reporters on Mildred’s lawn.”
    He said, “Who would I tell? But I feel for poor Mildred. That’s got to be hard. I hope she doesn’t blame herself.”
    Angie said, “So, anyway, she came in and they hugged, and they went over to that table over there. Then you came in.” I bring fresh eggs to the diner every afternoon, from Mort’s chicken house. He keeps the chickens out behind the museum, close to my mother’s little vintage trailer. My place has turned into a small farm since my mother sold the diner and retired.
    She said, “They talked for a while, but not very long. The lady, Sonje or Gwyneth or whoever, looked happy and a little excited, but nervous, too. She kept looking out the window. She was looking south, not at your hairy elephant, the way people do when they’re not from around here.”
    “Her kids were out there,” I said, “in that old house about a half a mile down the road. The one Carol Kramer inherited from her grandmother.”
    “Why would they stay out there? OK, never mind—so they talk, maybe fifteen minutes at most, and then they got up. They were heading towards the door when the woman with Carol Kramer got a phone call. She talked for a few seconds, looked irritated, said ‘no’ a couple of times—pretty firmly, too. Then she puts the phone back in her purse and pulls out an envelope and hands it to Carol. They hug again, and she takes off. Carol stayed a few minutes longer, talking to Conrad Krueger, and then she left, too.”
    “Did they both drive away in the same direction? Was Sonje heading back towards the farmhouse?”
    “Didn’t see. I was getting ready to close up. I’m binge-watching Orange is the New Black , and I wanted to get home. I canceled my Internet subscription, but it’s good for a few more days. Hey!”
    The