Free Rosemary and Crime by Gail Oust Page B

find him sitting by the phone on this lovely April Sunday. I’d try again later.
    Filling a mug of fresh brew, I went downstairs and looked around. Instead of the upheaval I half-expected, I found Spice It Up! neat as a pin. The yellow bib aprons were folded on a shelf under the counter. The jars of spices were perfectly aligned. Credit card receipts, I noted, had been arranged alphabetically. Master Charge in one pile, Visa in another. I caught myself smiling. I should have known. Leave it to Melly, my borderline OCD ex-mother-in-law, to take command. My smile widened when I read the message she’d left taped next to the cash register, explaining she’d taken it upon herself to rearrange the stock in the Hoosier cabinet. Her way was much more efficient—or so she claimed.
    Against my better judgment—I didn’t want to be a pest—I called the vet’s office one more time. Still no answer. Disappointed, I hung up and set to work.
    A handful of this, a cupful of that. Spicy sweet cinnamon, tangy cloves, licoricelike star anise, Szechwan peppercorns: I poured all of the ingredients into a coffee mill, which I reserved exclusively for grinding spices. When finished, I’d have my very own blend of spices, which worked great as a rub on baby back ribs and also with chicken and pork dishes. Between the disco music blaring through the earbuds of a hand-me-down MP3 player—CJ had replaced Lindsey’s with a fancier iPod version—and the whirr of the coffee mill, I almost didn’t hear someone bang on the front door. I hurried to answer and found Wyatt McBride standing there.
    Not even the make-you-want-to-dance Bee Gees music was an antidote against the lawman I’d quickly come to regard as toxic. “You … again?”
    “Going to invite me in, or not?”
    I stared up at him, not answering. Did that mean I had a choice? He was the last person on earth I wanted to see. That might be a cliché, but it best described how I felt.
    Reaching out, he removed the earbuds from my ears. “I asked if you were going to invite me in,” he repeated, apparently not attuned to my inner debate. Or chosing to ignore it.
    I stepped aside. “What do you want, McBride? I told you everything yesterday.”
    “Thought I’d let you know your prints have been sent to the GBI. We should have the results soon.”
    “You came here to tell me that?” I stalked back to the counter where I’d been working. “Of course, you’ll have a match. I already told you I found the darn knife.”
    He picked up a jar of cloves, took a whiff, and set it down. “You also mentioned you found a dog. Took her to the vet.”
    “Took him to the vet,” I corrected. “The dog was a he, not a she.”
    “Sure you don’t want to change your story?”
    I started to fill one of the small Ziploc bags with my concoction, but noticed my hands were shaking, so I stopped before spilling everything all over the floor. “Change my story…? Why would I want to do that?”
    Folding his arms across his chest, he stared down at me, his gaze cool and assessing. “I drove out to the place you told me about—Pets ’R People on Old County Road.”
    He let the statement hang, let it dangle, wanted to see me sweat. And I didn’t disappoint. The direction in which this conversation was heading made me a trifle nervous. But I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
    “Stop playing games, McBride.” Hands on hips, I assumed a belligerent stance. My shirt slipped down one shoulder, and I resisted the urge to tug it back in place. “Say what you came here to say and let me get back to work.”
    “Pets ’R People was locked tighter than a drum. And the vet was nowhere in sight.”
    I gestured wildly. “It’s Sunday. Dr. Winters might have gone for a drive. Or maybe he was invited out for dinner.”
    “That was my first thought too, until…”
    “Until…?”
    “I found a note on the office door. Apparently, Winters left town and took your alibi with