Read Online The Hen of the Baskervilles by Donna Andrews - Free Book Online Page A

large plate-glass windows.
    â€œTurn it off,” I shouted. “Turn it off!”
    But she couldn’t have heard me, and wasn’t looking my way to see that I had my hands clapped over my ears. She had her eyes closed, and was swaying and twitching spasmodically.
    Evidently neither shouting nor miming was going to work. I glanced down and saw power cords snaking down from the speakers and across the open ground in the middle of her booth to disappear under a chrome and Plexiglas panel. I leaned down and gave one cord a hard yank. A power strip slid from under the booth. I hit its off switch and sudden, blessed silence prevailed.
    Utter silence. As I stood up again, I glanced around to see that all up and down the tent, people were staring at us with their mouths wide open and their hands protecting their ears.
    â€œWhat did you have to do that for?” Genette was actually pouting.
    â€œI’m afraid I agree that your music is in violation of the wine pavilion rules,” I said.
    â€œAnd the county’s noise ordinances,” called a nearby winemaker.
    â€œI want to challenge everyone’s conservative perceptions about wine.” It might have sounded plausible if she hadn’t said it in the whiny voice of a thwarted toddler—a tone that was becoming all too familiar to me lately. “I want people to stop thinking of wine as something that only staid, middle-aged, affluent people can buy.”
    A well-dressed middle-aged woman who was in the process of buying several cases of wine at the next booth turned and glared at her briefly.
    â€œThat’s the whole idea behind my brand identity.” She indicated her booth with a sweeping gesture. “I hired an expensive, cutting-edge New York brand management firm to design it, because I wanted something edgy and urban and new! Not all this medieval Jefferson crap.” This time she waved vaguely at the rest of the tent. If looks could kill, Mother would already have felled her from across the aisle. “You need to bring wine into the twenty-first century!”
    â€œWe’ll certainly take your suggestions under advisement,” I said. “For next year. But we have neither the time nor the money to change the decor for this year’s fair. So we’d appreciate it if you’d try to work within this year’s guidelines.”
    â€œSo what am I supposed to do with the forty-thousand-dollar sound system I had made for my booth?” She pointed to the hulking speakers, now silent but still radiating potential menace.
    â€œThey make … interesting occasional tables,” I said. “But do keep them clear of the aisles—we wouldn’t want anyone to damage them.”
    With that I went back to where Mother and Dorcas were waiting.
    â€œThat woman,” Mother said, shaking her head.
    â€œIf anyone kills her, I expect an alibi,” I said.
    â€œIf anyone’s planning to kill her, tell them to come see me,” Dorcas said. “I want to get in on it.”
    I glanced back at Genette. She was tugging one of her hideous speakers back behind the booth line, glaring my way as she did. I’d probably made an enemy just now.
    I didn’t much care.
    â€œLet me know if she causes any trouble,” I said.
    â€œI think I can handle any trouble she causes.” Mother sniffed slightly.
    â€œYes, but I can’t ban anyone from the fair for misbehavior unless someone tells me about the misbehavior,” I said. “So I want to hear chapter and verse.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Mother said.
    I strolled out of the wine pavilion feeling confident that at least one part of the fair was under control.
    As I stepped out and looked around, I heard someone call my name. I turned to see a man following me out of the tent.
    â€œCan I help you, Mr.—” I glanced through the tent opening at the booth I thought he’d emerged from. Stapleton Wineries.