Read Online Murder in the Marketplace by Lora Roberts - Free Book Online
Authors: Lora Roberts
Tags: Mystery
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kind of weakness for the females he questioned. Luckily this was suicide, not murder. Clarice wouldn’t really need to arouse his chivalrous instincts. I found myself being glad of that.
The bus made that funny noise again while I drove down El Camino. This time I ignored it.
Chapter 7
"What a darling puppy!” Amy picked Barker up when he bounced at her and hugged him; it was hard to say which one was more delighted. I thought about food and vet bills and how big his feet looked at the end of his cute little legs. He smiled at Amy with his engaging doggy grin; she laughed when he licked her face. “Where did you get him? I thought you were doing census stuff.”
“I’m keeping him for someone for a while.” I glanced over my shoulder and wondered if I could swing a temporary fence of some kind between my house and Drake’s, where the hedge we perpetually planned was to go. “We’ll have to watch him carefully when he goes out. There’s some clothesline on the back porch to make a leash.”
Amy buried her face in his soft fur. “Are, you a stray, too, Barker? You’ve come to stay with Aunt Liz?” She was right. I was running a flophouse for the alienated and unwanted—including myself. Another set of responsibilities, for someone who’d spent the past few years ducking them. I half expected to look up the driveway and see a procession of laid-off victims of the moribund California economy coming to camp under my plum trees.
But so far it was only Amy, who ran dizzily beneath the branches in the golden twilight, with Barker chasing and leaping around her. The sight, for some reason, gave me great pleasure. Their noisy game of tag seemed necessary, the sort of amenity every house should have.
I didn’t quite know how to tell Amy about what had happened that evening. I kept seeing Jenifer Paston as she had been earlier, yawning while she leaned against the door. Perhaps she had taken the overdose before I spoke to her. But in that case, why had she made an appointment for seven? Her death, the manner and unexpectedness of it,depressed and alarmed me. I just couldn’t talk about it.
Instead, when Amy collapsed on the grass in front of me, breathless and smiling, I asked about her trip to Walgreen’s. It was only eight by the old schoolhouse clock, though it seemed way past my bedtime. After years of going to bed near sunset, I don’t often stay up late. The morning is my power time.
Amy bubbled over with the coolness of the scene in downtown Palo Alto. She’d already met some really nice kids. One of them had a lead on a job in a deli she might be able to get, and that would be cool because it was in walking distance—"I don’t want you to have to drive me, Aunt Liz,” she assured me, wide-eyed.
I had no intention of driving her. We are given legs to keep us from being a burden on the transportation system. When I imparted this bit of wisdom (Rule Number 27), Amy grew thoughtful.
“Dad wouldn’t let me drive, after two teeny little accidents,” she confided. “I didn’t think it was fair.” She stroked Barker, who’d settled down for a snooze in her lap. “He told me to walk if I wanted to get anywhere. So I did—right to the bus station.” She giggled.
“So your dad isn’t always wrong.” I wasn’t going to bite on this kind of blackmail. “The VW bus is only driven by me, Amy. It’s cranky, and might decide not to start again after you drove it somewhere. If you don’t want to walk or take the county transit bus, you could get a bike. One of the rules about staying here is that I don’t have to worry about you."
“You won’t,” she promised, lifting Barker and kissing him on his black and pink nose. She got to her feet and stretched. I envied that careless ease and limberness—I have to struggle with yoga and swimming just to keep it all from racing downhill instead of sliding gently. “One of the guys I met tonight has a car.”
She didn’t wait for me to
The bus made that funny noise again while I drove down El Camino. This time I ignored it.
Chapter 7
"What a darling puppy!” Amy picked Barker up when he bounced at her and hugged him; it was hard to say which one was more delighted. I thought about food and vet bills and how big his feet looked at the end of his cute little legs. He smiled at Amy with his engaging doggy grin; she laughed when he licked her face. “Where did you get him? I thought you were doing census stuff.”
“I’m keeping him for someone for a while.” I glanced over my shoulder and wondered if I could swing a temporary fence of some kind between my house and Drake’s, where the hedge we perpetually planned was to go. “We’ll have to watch him carefully when he goes out. There’s some clothesline on the back porch to make a leash.”
Amy buried her face in his soft fur. “Are, you a stray, too, Barker? You’ve come to stay with Aunt Liz?” She was right. I was running a flophouse for the alienated and unwanted—including myself. Another set of responsibilities, for someone who’d spent the past few years ducking them. I half expected to look up the driveway and see a procession of laid-off victims of the moribund California economy coming to camp under my plum trees.
But so far it was only Amy, who ran dizzily beneath the branches in the golden twilight, with Barker chasing and leaping around her. The sight, for some reason, gave me great pleasure. Their noisy game of tag seemed necessary, the sort of amenity every house should have.
I didn’t quite know how to tell Amy about what had happened that evening. I kept seeing Jenifer Paston as she had been earlier, yawning while she leaned against the door. Perhaps she had taken the overdose before I spoke to her. But in that case, why had she made an appointment for seven? Her death, the manner and unexpectedness of it,depressed and alarmed me. I just couldn’t talk about it.
Instead, when Amy collapsed on the grass in front of me, breathless and smiling, I asked about her trip to Walgreen’s. It was only eight by the old schoolhouse clock, though it seemed way past my bedtime. After years of going to bed near sunset, I don’t often stay up late. The morning is my power time.
Amy bubbled over with the coolness of the scene in downtown Palo Alto. She’d already met some really nice kids. One of them had a lead on a job in a deli she might be able to get, and that would be cool because it was in walking distance—"I don’t want you to have to drive me, Aunt Liz,” she assured me, wide-eyed.
I had no intention of driving her. We are given legs to keep us from being a burden on the transportation system. When I imparted this bit of wisdom (Rule Number 27), Amy grew thoughtful.
“Dad wouldn’t let me drive, after two teeny little accidents,” she confided. “I didn’t think it was fair.” She stroked Barker, who’d settled down for a snooze in her lap. “He told me to walk if I wanted to get anywhere. So I did—right to the bus station.” She giggled.
“So your dad isn’t always wrong.” I wasn’t going to bite on this kind of blackmail. “The VW bus is only driven by me, Amy. It’s cranky, and might decide not to start again after you drove it somewhere. If you don’t want to walk or take the county transit bus, you could get a bike. One of the rules about staying here is that I don’t have to worry about you."
“You won’t,” she promised, lifting Barker and kissing him on his black and pink nose. She got to her feet and stretched. I envied that careless ease and limberness—I have to struggle with yoga and swimming just to keep it all from racing downhill instead of sliding gently. “One of the guys I met tonight has a car.”
She didn’t wait for me to
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