Read Online All Murders Final! by Sherry Harris - Free Book Online Page A

attended. It was one of Margaret’s brothers, although he wouldn’t say which one, and the argument didn’t seem to have anything to do with Margaret’s death. After that he hadn’t answered any of my other questions about the investigation. The rest of the drive home last night had been chillier than the weather, and our good-byes had had a finality to them, which had left me shaken.
    I made myself a strong cup of coffee, read the newspaper, and watched the morning news. None of that provided me any insights into what had happened to Margaret or why. CJ had been quoted as saying it was an ongoing investigation. Since I didn’t have anything scheduled until this afternoon when Juanita Smith was picking up Pez dispensers I’d sold through the garage sale site for a client, I decided to start fixing and pricing some of the things I planned to sell at the February Blues garage sale. After New England’s Largest Yard Sale was such a success, Laura had asked me to run the base event. I planned to have my own table, and since last fall I had been squirreling away stuff I bought, like the things from the church rummage sale Saturday, or items I found on the curb.
    Maybe while I worked a next move would come to me to find out new information on Margaret. I pulled out a box of dishes, a small end table, the lamp from yesterday, and a box of assorted stuff. I’d start with these things. I might as well make the lamp repair first. I grabbed a three-way socket kit from under the kitchen sink and after some fiddling had the lamp working again. The blue and white porcelain lamp would look great in my bedroom, but I resisted the urge to put it in there.
    The end table needed a good dusting and some screws tightened. When I finished with it, I set it by my couch. It fit perfectly. That wasn’t good, because now I’d have to decide if I wanted to keep it for myself or sell it, like I’d originally planned. The sale wasn’t until a week from Friday, so I didn’t have to decide right now. I turned to the box of dishes, which I’d found on someone’s curb. They looked like they were from the fifties, with their atomic-themed starburst pattern. I turned one of the plates over. The mark indicated they were hand painted in France, and then there were some words written in French. I wondered if they were worth anything. You never knew what goodies people just threw away. I’d have to look online for more information about them before I priced them.
    I filled the kitchen sink with warm, sudsy water and started washing the dishes. I’d promised myself when CJ and I divorced, and I moved from a large house on Fitch to this small apartment, that I’d have a “something in, something out” policy. I set the clean dishes on a towel on the counter. After I dried them, I peeked into my already overcrowded cupboards. Maybe with a little rearranging . . . I shook my head and managed to put them back in the box, instead of in my cupboard.
    Fixing and pricing took longer than I’d thought it would, but at 3:15 p.m. I was waiting impatiently for Juanita Smith, the cleaning lady I’d gotten complaints about, to show up. The impatience seemed to be more because of my mood after my evening with CJ and that I hadn’t come up with any further ideas about Margaret’s death.
    Juanita was coming to buy a box full of Pez dispensers I’d listed for a new client on the garage sale site. Last week the client had contacted me, saying she’d decided to sell her collection of Pez dispensers. Most of them had been lumped together in one lot, but we’d kept out a few that had a bit more value. Juanita had snapped them all up. I’d been surprised by the number of people who were interested, and I’d realized I should have sold them in smaller lots, which would have meant more money for my client and me.
    The wind gusted hard enough to rattle the windows. But