Free Rosemary and Crime by Gail Oust Page A

shrugged, but made no effort to hide her smirk. “Sheesh, Piper, I grew up in the South. Butch taught the twins to shoot soon as they were big enough to hold a gun. Took ’em huntin’ once they were old enough to get licenses. Both Clay and Caleb own pistols. Like to talk weapons. I’m thinking of gettin’ one myself and applyin’ for a concealed weapons permit. Some manufacturers even make ladies’ guns with pretty pink grips.”
    “Well, I’ll be.” I shook my head in wonderment. Who was this stranger with the magenta hair and her talk of guns? You think you know someone well, then bam! Suddenly you see a whole different side of them.
    “I’m dead serious, Piper. You oughta think about it, too.”
    “No way am I ever going to own a gun. I’d probably end up shooting myself in the foot.”
    “Never say never,” Reba Mae counseled. “If Mario had had a gun handy he might not be layin’ on a slab at the coroner’s this very minute.”
    “But if the robber had a gun, why didn’t he shoot Mario instead of stab him?” There went those pesky doubts again.
    “Good point. Unless—”
    “He didn’t have a gun after all,” I said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “What if … Mario interrupted some creep trying to steal him blind. He grabbed a knife to defend himself, and…”
    “… the thief turned it on him instead.”
    Proud of our powers of deduction, we high-fived. “We’d make a fine pair of detectives.”
    “We could call ourselves Spice and Klassy, sort like that old TV show Starsky and Hutch. Or am I thinking of Cagney and Lacey ?”
    “More like Lucy and Ethel,” I said, stifling a yawn.
    “Well,” Reba Mae said, undeterred, “if the culprit’s obvious to us, he ought to be obvious to McBride, too.”
    Easing myself out of the chair, I shoved my feet into sandals. “I hope you’re right. I’ve had all the drama this girl can stand for a day. I’m exhausted.”
    Reba Mae picked up the nacho platter and headed toward the kitchen, with me close at her heels carrying the glasses. “Glad tomorrow’s Sunday, and we both have a day off.”
    As I put the glasses in the dishwasher, I noticed a smudge of black fingerprint ink around the nail bed of my index finger. “I still haven’t checked today’s receipts or restocked supplies.”
    “It’ll keep, sugar.” Reba Mae walked me to the door and gave me a hug. “Wait ’n see. Things’ll look brighter after a good night’s sleep. McBride will find whoever offed Mario, and all your problems will be solved.”
    *   *   *
    In spite of being bone weary, I tossed and turned, finally falling into a deep sleep in the wee hours before dawn. Next time I looked at the alarm clock on my bedside stand, it was after ten. Drat! I not only missed church services, but would be subjected to Melly’s tight-lipped disapproval—again. Times like this, I wondered if CJ was ever on the receiving end of his mother’s censure. I knew for a fact that Melly was unhappy with his recent behavior. Bad enough he’d created a scandal by divorcing his faithful and loving wife—that would be moi —but he’d taken up with Miss Amber Leigh Ames, former beauty pageant winner, a woman nearly half his age. No, Melly Prescott wasn’t happy with her only child.
    After a quick shower, I dressed for comfort in black yoga leggings, a lavender cami under an oversized shirt with dolman sleeves, and a pair of flats. For breakfast, I ground French vanilla coffee beans I’d been hoarding for a special treat and enjoyed a cup along with a blueberry muffin seasoned with citrusy Ceylon cinnamon.
    Before going down to my shop, I dialed Pets ’R People for news of the pup I’d rescued. The phone rang and rang, then went to voice mail. I left a message for Doug—I felt assisting in emergency surgery qualified us to be on a first name basis—and asked him to call me. I squelched my vague unease at not being able to reach him, telling myself it was silly to expect to