Read Online Rest Ye Murdered Gentlemen by Vicki Delany - Free Book Online Page A

locked together to make a circle. Extension sets could be bought with more track and more cars. Alan Anderson made them, and they were hugely popular.
    â€œI don’t know . . .”
    â€œWell, I do,” her companion said. “Remember that tractor you bought him for Christmas last year?” She turned to Jackie. “Isaac opened the box, slid the tractor across the floor, and one of the wheels fell off. You get what you pay for, Mom, and isn’t your only grandson worth it?”
    Sold!
    Jackie gave me a wink as she carried the train set to the counter. The women continued browsing.
    â€œSorry I’m late,” I whispered to my assistant. “Rough night. I have to go out again. Can you manage for a while?”
    â€œNo problem.”
    â€œI’ll bring you something back from Vicky’s.” I studied her face. Her eyes were clear and her skin dewy fresh. “Did you happen to catch the news this morning?”
    â€œI never listen to the news. Much too depressing.”
    â€œDo you have this ornament in blue?” one of the customers asked, and Jackie called, “I’ll have a latte with extra whipped cream,” over her shoulder as she went to help.
    I never did understand how Jackie could have whipped cream on breakfast coffee, nor how she kept so thin despite consuming several cups of it a day.
    The now-familiar silver BMW was parked in front of Victoria’s Bake Shoppe, between a cruiser and an unmarked van. I’d seen that van last night, disgorging men and women in white suits carrying evidence boxes. I climbed the steps and hammered on the door. Through the frosted glass I could see people moving about inside.
    The door opened a crack. “Closed,” said a uniformed officer.
    â€œVicky!” I called.
    My best friend’s pretty heart-shaped face topped by a shock of purple hair peeked around the cop’s broad back. “This is my friend. Can she come in, please?”
    â€œLet her in,” a woman’s voice called. The big cop stepped back.
    â€œGood morning, Ms. Wilkinson.” Detective Simmonds looked as fresh and bright eyed as Jackie had, but she was wearing the same jacket and jeans as last night. “What brings you here?”
    â€œVicky’s my friend. I popped in to say hi.” The bakery was full of its usual smells of warm pastries, bread hot from the oven, sugar, and spices, but this morning a thin layer of something else lay over it all: chemicals, harsh and unwelcome.
    I glanced at the top shelf. The light that usually illuminated the golden Rudolph parade trophy was switched off, and the statue itself was wrapped in gloom.
    â€œI heard that Nigel Pearce died,” I said.
    Simmonds nodded. “Yeah. They couldn’t bring him back.”
    â€œHow . . .” I began.
    â€œAutopsy’s this afternoon,” Simmonds said. “Until then, we are not going to speculate. And until then, we’re finished here. You can have your bakery back, Ms. Casey.”
    â€œI can open?”
    â€œFor now. Let’s go, people.”
    They began trooping out. Simmonds was last. “Please don’t leave town, Ms. Casey. Until I tell you otherwise.”
    â€œThis is the busiest time of year. I’m hardly going to . . .”
    I placed a hand on my friend’s arm. “She won’t.”
    â€œGood,” Simmonds said. She gave us both a long, piercing look before following her colleagues.
    Vicky dropped into a chair.
    â€œAre you going to open the bakery?” I asked.
    Purple hair flew as she shook her head. Her sleeves were rolled up and the matching dragon tattoos on her forearms moved as she rubbed at her face. “No point. The breakfast rush is over, and I can’t get ready in time for Sunday brunch. I called the staff and told them not to come in. The cops have eaten most of what I’d already baked, and I haven’tstarted on anything