Read Online Arsenic with Austen by Katherine Bolger Hyde - Free Book Online Page B

Beatrice’s death. She ate lobster, which always made her sick, and then she was too damn stubborn to call me in. Agnes finally called in spite of her. I did everything I could for her, but by the time I got there, it was too late.”
    â€œYou mean she died before you arrived?”
    â€œNo, but she was too weak to rally. Heart gave out. She was a strong woman, but she was eighty-seven years old.”
    Emily frowned into Sam’s gray eyes. The doctor’s expression was impenetrable. Emily was convinced she was hiding something, but what?
    As casually as she could, she asked, “So this clinic trust—that’s your baby? Did you know about it before she died?”
    Sam resumed her paper shuffling. “Not to say knew. Asked her to give the money outright. Town needs a real clinic, decent equipment. Have to send people to Tillamook for anything worse than a paper cut. But Beatrice kept stringing me along. Never consulted a doctor herself, couldn’t believe other people really needed to. Hinted she might do something in her will—wouldn’t tell me straight out.”
    â€œI see.” Emily drummed her fingers on the counter, wondering what else she could ask that would throw any light on the situation. What would Miss Marple say? Or Lord Peter Wimsey? Either of them might disarm the doctor with innocent questions, but it was a bit late for that. This sleuthing business was harder than books made it seem.
    â€œWell, thank you for your time.” Emily strode out. As she turned to close the door behind her, she caught another glimpse of naked fear in the doctor’s eyes.
    *   *   *
    Her car and Luke’s office were a few blocks away. He’d probably be back by now and lying in wait for her to have that talk. She wasn’t ready for it. They’d established some sort of working rapport over lunch, and she didn’t want to jeopardize it by opening old wounds. She’d pursue her original plan of scoping out the town.
    Fifth Street met the highway at the south end of the business district. This first block was part of Brock’s inheritance, not hers, but that was no reason she should ignore it. Besides, the first door she came to was a yarn shop called Sheep to Knits. Irresistible. Having just finished the sweater she was wearing, she’d brought no knitting with her, and her fingers were beginning to itch for needles and wool.
    Just inside the door was a display of cashmere-blend yarn in all the rich fall colors Emily adored: gold, pumpkin, nutmeg, cinnamon, olive, russet. They looked good enough to eat. She picked up a ball of the russet, the cashmere yielding like a feather bed under her fingers. She glanced at the price and was about to return the ball reluctantly to the bin, when she remembered: She was rich now. She could buy all the cashmere she wanted.
    â€œThat’s a great color for you,” came a voice from the back of the shop.
    Emily smiled in the voice’s direction and snaked her way toward it between tables piled with yarn. Next to the cash register, a young woman with spiky dead-black hair perched on a stool, knitting a long swath of indeterminate shape, the bulk of which seemed to be draped around her body in an endless spiral. Color swirled into color with exuberant disregard for harmony; stitch piled on stitch, shape shifted with bewildering randomness. Glimpses of black leggings and tank top peeked through the chaos on her legs and torso, while tattoos covered her arms.
    The young woman gave Emily a disarming smile accented by a sparkling lip stud. “I like to try out every new yarn I get in so I can tell people about it. I’m working with some of that cashmere now.” She held out her work for Emily to see. The fine maple-leaf-red yarn formed an intricate lace pattern that mimicked leafy vines. The knitting was expertly done.
    â€œIt knits up beautifully. Do you sell that lace