Read Online Knot the Usual Suspects by Molly MacRae - Free Book Online

the sleep of the countless Blue Plumians within earshot, including the inmates in the jail behind the courthouse and the deputies guarding them and the ducks quacking in the creek . . . I might have dozed sitting up.
    The tune changed, slowed, didn’t grow softer. I’d heard it before, possibly in a movie. Melancholy . . . haunting . . . Geneva and Argyle! I pictured them cowering in the attic at the Weaver’s Cat.
    I threw back the covers, but before I’d put a foot on the floor, the pipes quit—one short wheeze of a sour note, and then silence.

Chapter 7
    G eneva and Argyle were waiting for me in the kitchen at the Weaver’s Cat the next morning. Argyle held no grudges over sleep interrupted by bagpipes. He accepted a rub between the ears and a helping of fish-flavored crunchy things with his usual good grace and shedding fur. Geneva looked grumpy and seemed to expect an apology.
    â€œIt wasn’t me playing the pipes after midnight, Geneva, but I’m sorry they bothered you. Do you really hate them that much?”
    â€œI hid under your desk with Argyle and we yowled to drown them out. I believe several dogs in the neighborhood joined us. The yowling was cathartic, but that does not mean I would like the fiend to repeat his performance again tonight.”
    â€œHave you ever heard bagpipes in real life?”
    â€œAs opposed to in real death? You are particularly insensitive this morning.”
    â€œThat
was
insensitive, and I’m sorry. I just wondered if anyone around here played them in your time.”
    â€œSuch a villain would have been ridden out of town on a rail.”
    *   *   *
    Ardis was waiting for me in the front room, looking about as sleep-deprived and grumpy as her great-great-aunt.
    â€œI’m trying to put a good face on it,” she said, “because I dearly love the pipes. But you and I both know that I also dearly love my sleep, and this morning when I looked in the mirror I had a hard time convincing myself that I wasn’t hungover. It’s my eyes, Kath. Look at my eyes.” She leaned toward me and almost fell off the tall stool.
    I immediately went to Mel’s and bought a large coffee for her.
    *   *   *
    Clod Dunbar was waiting for me when I got back from Mel’s. He and Ardis weren’t exchanging small talk when I came in. Small talk wasn’t Clod’s strong suit, and Ardis hadn’t had enough sleep to bait him into engaging in it. I gave Ardis the cup of coffee and stood beside her. She took a sip, gauging the brew’s temperature, then took a long swallow.
    â€œAh, Coleridge,” she said. “Now that caffeine has propped open my eyelids, good morning.” She breathed in the coffee’s aroma and took another swallow. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence two days in a row? Are you here to tell us that the mad piper will pipe no more? That would be a kind thing for you to say and music to my ears. Especially as you tracked mud in through our front door.”
    Clod didn’t look over his shoulder or check the solesof his shoes. Instead he cleared his throat. His harrumph was out of uniform, though.
He
wore his khaki and brown, and held his Smokey the Bear hat at attention in the crook of his arm, but the harrumph was . . .
    â€œSomething’s happened,” I said quietly, trying to read it on his face. “What?”
    His voice was out of uniform, too. He spoke to Ardis. “It’s Hugh, Ms. Buchanan. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
    I took the cup of coffee from Ardis before she crumpled.
    â€œI need to get back there,” Clod said, talking to me now, “but I didn’t think she should hear about it from some—”
    â€œWhere?” I asked.
    â€œI’m not authorized to—”
    â€œBack where?” Ardis asked. “Where did it happen?”
    â€œMs.