Read Online Kernel of Truth by Kristi Abbott - Free Book Online Page B

much as long as I could remember. I shuddered. I’d been alone in the alley countless times when Jasper had come along to pick up the leftover popcorn from me and dig through the trash behind the diner. I shuddered harder when I thought about the times he’d come by when Susanna was alone at the shop. And that was only since I’d moved back! It was crazy to think about how long we’d all discountedJasper as crazy, but not dangerous. It was devastating to think about how wrong we’d all been.
    Dan waved a hand in front of my face to get my attention. Apparently, I’d been staring into space a little too long. “So be happy it’s over. I know it won’t bring Coco back, but at least no one else will get hurt.” Dan took another bite of hamburger.
    â€œWait a second.” I ate another French fry while I figured out what was bugging me. “Do you think Jasper was telling the truth about what time he was in the alley?”
    â€œWe’re going to be double-checking to see who saw him that evening, but it sounds about right.” He pulled my plate toward him and started eating my grilled cheese sandwich.
    â€œWhat was Coco still doing there that late? That’s not like her.” Coco was pretty much an “early to bed, early to rise” kind of gal. I couldn’t think of anything that would keep her at her shop that late.
    Dan shrugged. “Working on her books? Planning new truffle recipes? I have no idea.”
    I didn’t, either. And now we’d probably never know.
    *   *   *
    Sunday morning is my morning to sleep in. POPS is a seven-day-a-week prospect at this point, but all work and no play makes Rebecca nearly as homicidal as Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
. So I don’t open POPS until two o’clock on Sunday afternoons and I don’t get up until I wake up. Unless, of course, my cell phone rings at eight thirty in the morning. Then I roll over and fumble for the phone as it vibrates its way across my bedside table.
    â€œHello,” I mumbled into it, not looking to check the caller ID.
    â€œDarling, are you all right?” Antoine asked with that hint of a French guttural
R
in
right
that used to drive me wild ina good way as opposed to the way it was getting on my last nerve at the moment.
    â€œI was all right. I was sleeping.” I checked the time again. If it was eight thirty here, it was five thirty in California. Of course Antoine was up already. He’d probably already been to the farmers’ market and the fish market to pick out whatever he would use in tonight’s menu at L’Oiseau Gris.
    â€œI have just heard about poor Coco.
Quelle tragedie!
”
    I pushed myself up into a sitting position in the bed, careful to keep from knocking my head on the sloping ceiling. There are some downsides to an over-the-garage apartment and I’d learned that one the hard way the first week I’d moved in. Luckily, my head is almost as hard as Huerta’s. “How do you know about Coco?”
    â€œIt is right here on the front page of the
Grand Lake Sentinel
! How could I miss it?”
    â€œWhy are you reading the
Grand Lake Sentinel
? What could possibly interest you in that paper?” Seriously, they didn’t even have a Food section unless you counted the recipes they ran in Penelope’s Corner once a month, and most of those were for casseroles that involved crumbled up potato chips as a topping. Delicious, I grant you. Haute cuisine? Not so much.
    There was a pause. “You interest me, so I am interested in what happens in the town you live in.”
    I leaned forward and rested my forehead against my knees and let that sink in for a moment. “Like you were interested in me in Minneapolis, Antoine?”
    â€œOh,
chérie
, will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me for that?” He sounded sad, but I knew better.
    â€œProbably not.” Once you’ve been