Read Online Paper-Thin Alibi by Mary Ellen Hughes - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Ellen Hughes
Tags: Mystery
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promised not to be long. Instead of heading straight out of the building, though, she turned toward Gabe’s toy booth.
“Like to take a lunch break with me?” she asked. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Gabe looked up from the dollhouse he was examining. “Tell you what. You go ahead and grab something, and I’ll meet you in ten minutes at the tea kiosk. I’ve already had a bowl of soup, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of Patty’s spicy tea.”
“Sounds good.” Jo checked her watch. “See you then.”
In ten minutes she was standing near the edge of Patty’s Tea Shack, nibbling at her chicken salad roll-up, while Gabe waited in line for the tea.
“How about I get two?” he’d offered, guaranteeing that Jo would love the chai. She’d agreed, and when he handed her the large foam cup and she inhaled some of the delicious-smelling steam that wafted toward her, she was glad she had.
“There’s an empty bench over there,” Jo said, pointing with her elbow to an area about twenty feet away, and led the way.
When they’d settled down, Gabe took a careful sip of his hot beverage and looked toward her. “Okay, fire away. What do you need to know?”
Glad to get straight to the point, Jo asked, “What do you know about Bill Ewing in relation to Linda?”
“Bill?” The gray eyebrows on Gabe’s lined face went up. “You’ve been hearing things, huh?”
“Not much, just a hint that something major had happened between them in Morgantown.”
“Well, normally I try to keep out of such things, but I suspect you have a good reason for asking. Is that so?”
Jo took a bracing sip of her chai, which she found delicious. In a cozier conversation she would have savored it, but for the moment a quick swallow had to do. “Apparently, one of Linda’s dying breaths was used to indicate that I had poisoned her.” She told Gabe about her interview with Sheriff Franklin, and he shook his head sadly.
“Sounds like she put you in quite a spot,” he said.
“That she did. But there’s nothing says I have to stay there. I intend to find out who doctored up that candy and sent it to Linda. Bill Ewing may or may not be the one, but I have to start somewhere.”
Gabe nodded, understanding. “Bill does photography,” he began. “He sells framed black and white prints of things like bridges, snowy landscape scenes, things like that. He depends a lot, financially, on coming to these shows, but they’re juried, as you know, and not everyone who applies gets into every show. Sometimes it’s just a matter of trying to keep a balance—not too many of one type of thing—or of simply needing to make space for new people now and then.
“But Linda, once she started coming, was getting into each and every show. Rumors started flying about favoritism. That happens once in a while. People, even craft show organizers, are human, with all the usual human frailties. But Linda made the rumors particularly hard to shrug off.” He took a sip of his chai. “You know what she was like. She had to be sure everyone was 100 percent aware of her success, pretending it was totally due to her outstanding skills, but at the same time dropping hints about her high connections.
“It drove Bill crazy, especially when she started putting down his work to others, which of course got back to him. Bill is not a calm, coolheaded person. If he were Irish like my dear wife,” Gabe said with a small wink, “I’d blame it on that, but he’s not. So he blustered and huffed and complained to the management, which got him nothing but what he considered empty assurances that there was no favoritism being shown.
“At Morgantown things came to a head. Bill had learned that he was turned down for participation at the Atlanta show—a major money-making stop—and that Linda was, once again, in. He stormed and fumed all day. Then, when he couldn’t stand it any longer he stomped over to Linda’s booth and
“Like to take a lunch break with me?” she asked. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Gabe looked up from the dollhouse he was examining. “Tell you what. You go ahead and grab something, and I’ll meet you in ten minutes at the tea kiosk. I’ve already had a bowl of soup, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of Patty’s spicy tea.”
“Sounds good.” Jo checked her watch. “See you then.”
In ten minutes she was standing near the edge of Patty’s Tea Shack, nibbling at her chicken salad roll-up, while Gabe waited in line for the tea.
“How about I get two?” he’d offered, guaranteeing that Jo would love the chai. She’d agreed, and when he handed her the large foam cup and she inhaled some of the delicious-smelling steam that wafted toward her, she was glad she had.
“There’s an empty bench over there,” Jo said, pointing with her elbow to an area about twenty feet away, and led the way.
When they’d settled down, Gabe took a careful sip of his hot beverage and looked toward her. “Okay, fire away. What do you need to know?”
Glad to get straight to the point, Jo asked, “What do you know about Bill Ewing in relation to Linda?”
“Bill?” The gray eyebrows on Gabe’s lined face went up. “You’ve been hearing things, huh?”
“Not much, just a hint that something major had happened between them in Morgantown.”
“Well, normally I try to keep out of such things, but I suspect you have a good reason for asking. Is that so?”
Jo took a bracing sip of her chai, which she found delicious. In a cozier conversation she would have savored it, but for the moment a quick swallow had to do. “Apparently, one of Linda’s dying breaths was used to indicate that I had poisoned her.” She told Gabe about her interview with Sheriff Franklin, and he shook his head sadly.
“Sounds like she put you in quite a spot,” he said.
“That she did. But there’s nothing says I have to stay there. I intend to find out who doctored up that candy and sent it to Linda. Bill Ewing may or may not be the one, but I have to start somewhere.”
Gabe nodded, understanding. “Bill does photography,” he began. “He sells framed black and white prints of things like bridges, snowy landscape scenes, things like that. He depends a lot, financially, on coming to these shows, but they’re juried, as you know, and not everyone who applies gets into every show. Sometimes it’s just a matter of trying to keep a balance—not too many of one type of thing—or of simply needing to make space for new people now and then.
“But Linda, once she started coming, was getting into each and every show. Rumors started flying about favoritism. That happens once in a while. People, even craft show organizers, are human, with all the usual human frailties. But Linda made the rumors particularly hard to shrug off.” He took a sip of his chai. “You know what she was like. She had to be sure everyone was 100 percent aware of her success, pretending it was totally due to her outstanding skills, but at the same time dropping hints about her high connections.
“It drove Bill crazy, especially when she started putting down his work to others, which of course got back to him. Bill is not a calm, coolheaded person. If he were Irish like my dear wife,” Gabe said with a small wink, “I’d blame it on that, but he’s not. So he blustered and huffed and complained to the management, which got him nothing but what he considered empty assurances that there was no favoritism being shown.
“At Morgantown things came to a head. Bill had learned that he was turned down for participation at the Atlanta show—a major money-making stop—and that Linda was, once again, in. He stormed and fumed all day. Then, when he couldn’t stand it any longer he stomped over to Linda’s booth and
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