Read Online Nickeled-And-Dimed to Death by Denise Swanson - Free Book Online Page B

skirt and a boat neckline. Completing her outfit were navy leather Cuban-heeled pumps and a cloche. Because she was on her way to eight o’clock Mass and didn’t want to splatter her outfit while cooking, she also had on a red-and-white-checkered bib apron.
    Finally I said, “Sorry, no church today.” I hadn’t been to services in twelve years. I figured if God had forsaken my family, then I wasn’t visiting him. “I’m still waiting for a sign that He wants me back.”
    “So why are you up?” Gran squinted at me. “Not to mention wearing something other than jeans.” She put her hand to her chest. “And, sweet Jesus, you have on uh . . .” She pointed to her face.
    “Makeup,” I supplied. The doctor had said it was best to provide the word she couldn’t recall rather than let her become stressed trying to come up with it. What I couldn’t understand, and the gerontologist hadn’t been able to explain, was how she could come up with a less-used word like apocalypse but not an everyday word like makeup .
    “Right.” She nodded. “You have on makeup for the second day in a row.”
    As I explained about Boone, I kept a wary eye on Gran’s cat, Banshee. He was in his usual mealtime spot, perched on top of the fridge. He liked to skulk in the shadows just below the cupboard, then launch himself onto my head as I walked by and dig his claws into my scalp. Gran claimed that it was his way of showing affection, but Banshee and I both knew he hated my guts.
    While Gran added bacon to the pan and poured more pancake batter on the griddle, she said, “Eldridge Kincaid’s slinky has always been a little kinked, but for him to think that that sweet boy had anything to do with killing that woman is outlandish.”
    “Definitely.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, added skim milk and fake sugar, then sat down at the table. “Chief Kincaid must have lost it.”
    “And the reason he thinks Boone killed her is really ridiculous.”
    “Oh.” I took a sip from my mug. “Really? I read somewhere that a love affair gone bad is among the top ten causes for murder.”
    “Maybe so.” Gran slid a steaming plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. “But Boone wouldn’t be having an affair with that woman.”
    “And how do you know that?” I asked. Considering that he was my best friend and I wasn’t sure which sex he preferred, I wondered if Gran knew something I didn’t. Or was she jumping to conclusions?
    “Because he wouldn’t be that unprofessional.” Gran put her own dish on the table and joined me. “Boone has wanted to be a lawyer since he was in diapers. That boy would never risk being, uh . . .”
    “Disbarred?”
    “Right.”
    I nodded my agreement, then poured syrup over my pancakes and inhaled the rich maple scent. Before taking my first bite, I said, “I hope the attorney Boone hired from Chicago made it here, and Mr. Pryce can at least get him released on bail. Although I bet if he can, he’ll have to wait until Monday when the courts open, which isn’t good. Boone won’t handle being in jail very well. You should have seen how beaten-down he looked last night.”
    “I can imagine.” Gran picked up a slice of bacon and examined it. “He always hated getting dirty.” She crunched the crispy strip. “And he purely cannot abide having his hair messed up.”
    Since neither of us could think of anything more to say on the matter of Boone’s arrest, Gran asked me about my evening with Noah. I assured her that I had gotten what I wanted—a new business contact and big fat order. She seemed really happy that I’d had to leave Noah early, even if it meant my friend was in trouble.
    As Gran gathered up our dirty plates and took them to the sink, she said, “I just hope you won’t be fooled by Noah’s charm.”
    “Of course not.” I deposited the butter and syrup inside the refrigerator door. I crossed my fingers. “I’m only interested in Noah as a friend.”
    “Right.”