Read Online Daisies for Innocence by Bailey Cattrell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bailey Cattrell
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pushing me back to arm’s length. “Honey, you look so much better than the last time I saw you!”
“Um, thanks.” I racked my brain as to when that might have been. Probably when I’d been putting in the garden behind Scents & Nonsense, so I would have been covered with dirt and sweat.
She shook her head, and her bleached blond hair swung back and forth. “This whole thing with Josie is so terrible. I just can’t believe it.”
I nodded, finding it hard to speak. But this was why I was here, not Ritter. I patted her shoulder, feeling awkward. “How are you holding up?”
Maggie made a face. “You know those stages of grief? Well, I’m in the anger one right now. I feel like I could break someone in two—if it was the right someone. Have you heard anything else about what happened? Do they have a suspect?”
Astrid and I exchanged a glance. “Not that I know of,” I said, glad to know Maggie was okay. For now, at least.
She turned and hugged Astrid, too. “And you haven’t been in here for almost as long as Ellie here. How’s the pet-sitting biz?” She tsked without waiting for an answer.“Oh, that poor girl. I just can’t believe anyone would kill her.” Then she seemed to remember where she was. “What can I get you?”
“Buffalo Trace,” Astrid answered without hesitation. “Neat.”
“Coming right up! Ellie?”
“Um,” I said. “How about—”
“Ellie?”
I turned to find Harris weaving through the tables. He didn’t look terribly happy to see me.
He stopped in front of me. Even now I had to admit Harris Madigan was a handsome man. Dark hair flipped down over his forehead, his tanned complexion complemented eyes the color of pine straw, and his Elvis Presley lips curved over a solid square chin. Unfortunately, those lips often curved down in a frown rather than up in a smile.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Checking in on Maggie. And, er, you seemed pretty upset on the phone—” I began.
“How dare you tell the cops Ellie killed Josie Overland?” Astrid demanded.
Maggie’s fingers crept to her mouth, and her eyes widened. The group of women in the nearby booth turned their heads to look at us. Ritter’s head came up, and Cynthia twisted in her seat.
“Astrid,” I hissed. I hadn’t brought her along so she could confront him for me.
Harris’ face flushed a dangerous crimson, and his eyes narrowed. “Ellie? Now we can’t even have aconversation without you blowing it all out of proportion to your friends?”
My heart was pounding. God, I hated conflict, and I especially hated conflict with Harris because it seemed as though I could never win.
Not this time.
“Maybe we could talk in your office?” I asked.
He gave a curt nod and stalked toward the back of the restaurant.
We followed—and every eye in the place followed us. As we went by the bar, Astrid reached over and picked up the bourbon Maggie had poured for her and offered it to me. I shook my head. Astrid slugged the shot back with a grimace and thumped the empty glass on the bar.
As I passed by, Ritter quirked an eyebrow and gave me a smile and a subtle nod. Ignoring Cynthia’s scowl, I felt my lips flutter up in a tentative smile in return.
The smells of garlic and butter increased once we were through the kitchen door, along with roasting chicken and the heady aromas of dried rosemary, thyme, and sage that a man I didn’t know was crushing with a mortar and pestle. He was all freckles and ginger hair, gangly arms and knobby joints, which gave him an air of youth. When he grinned down at me, that pang of almost homesickness for the restaurant shot through me again, followed immediately by knee-wobbling relief that I didn’t have to work twelve-hour days in this place anymore.
The office was much as I remembered it: too-big desk facing the door, antique brass lamp in need of a good buffing, and a low file cabinet with piles of paper waitingto find a home inside. The blind over the
“Um, thanks.” I racked my brain as to when that might have been. Probably when I’d been putting in the garden behind Scents & Nonsense, so I would have been covered with dirt and sweat.
She shook her head, and her bleached blond hair swung back and forth. “This whole thing with Josie is so terrible. I just can’t believe it.”
I nodded, finding it hard to speak. But this was why I was here, not Ritter. I patted her shoulder, feeling awkward. “How are you holding up?”
Maggie made a face. “You know those stages of grief? Well, I’m in the anger one right now. I feel like I could break someone in two—if it was the right someone. Have you heard anything else about what happened? Do they have a suspect?”
Astrid and I exchanged a glance. “Not that I know of,” I said, glad to know Maggie was okay. For now, at least.
She turned and hugged Astrid, too. “And you haven’t been in here for almost as long as Ellie here. How’s the pet-sitting biz?” She tsked without waiting for an answer.“Oh, that poor girl. I just can’t believe anyone would kill her.” Then she seemed to remember where she was. “What can I get you?”
“Buffalo Trace,” Astrid answered without hesitation. “Neat.”
“Coming right up! Ellie?”
“Um,” I said. “How about—”
“Ellie?”
I turned to find Harris weaving through the tables. He didn’t look terribly happy to see me.
He stopped in front of me. Even now I had to admit Harris Madigan was a handsome man. Dark hair flipped down over his forehead, his tanned complexion complemented eyes the color of pine straw, and his Elvis Presley lips curved over a solid square chin. Unfortunately, those lips often curved down in a frown rather than up in a smile.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Checking in on Maggie. And, er, you seemed pretty upset on the phone—” I began.
“How dare you tell the cops Ellie killed Josie Overland?” Astrid demanded.
Maggie’s fingers crept to her mouth, and her eyes widened. The group of women in the nearby booth turned their heads to look at us. Ritter’s head came up, and Cynthia twisted in her seat.
“Astrid,” I hissed. I hadn’t brought her along so she could confront him for me.
Harris’ face flushed a dangerous crimson, and his eyes narrowed. “Ellie? Now we can’t even have aconversation without you blowing it all out of proportion to your friends?”
My heart was pounding. God, I hated conflict, and I especially hated conflict with Harris because it seemed as though I could never win.
Not this time.
“Maybe we could talk in your office?” I asked.
He gave a curt nod and stalked toward the back of the restaurant.
We followed—and every eye in the place followed us. As we went by the bar, Astrid reached over and picked up the bourbon Maggie had poured for her and offered it to me. I shook my head. Astrid slugged the shot back with a grimace and thumped the empty glass on the bar.
As I passed by, Ritter quirked an eyebrow and gave me a smile and a subtle nod. Ignoring Cynthia’s scowl, I felt my lips flutter up in a tentative smile in return.
The smells of garlic and butter increased once we were through the kitchen door, along with roasting chicken and the heady aromas of dried rosemary, thyme, and sage that a man I didn’t know was crushing with a mortar and pestle. He was all freckles and ginger hair, gangly arms and knobby joints, which gave him an air of youth. When he grinned down at me, that pang of almost homesickness for the restaurant shot through me again, followed immediately by knee-wobbling relief that I didn’t have to work twelve-hour days in this place anymore.
The office was much as I remembered it: too-big desk facing the door, antique brass lamp in need of a good buffing, and a low file cabinet with piles of paper waitingto find a home inside. The blind over the
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