Read Online To Catch a Leaf by Kate Collins - Free Book Online

shop.”
    â€œI’m sorry for your loss, Grace,” I said, giving her a hug, while Lottie ran to use the phone at the cashier’s counter. “If there’s anything I can do, please tell me.”
    â€œThen, if it wouldn’t be too much bother,” Grace said, “would you and Marco find Connie’s killer?”
    I’d left myself wide open for that one. “You want us to investigate?”
    â€œWe know how the system works, don’t we? The last person to be with the victim is the first one the police suspect.”
    â€œWe won’t let that happen, Grace.”
    â€œI trust that’s a yes?”
    Â 
    I put fresh water and food out for Simon, lined a large straw basket with thick towels, and moved it under my desk. “Here, Simon. Here’s your bed.”
    He sniffed all around the basket, deemed it safe, and stepped inside, kneading the towels with his front feet until he’d softened them to his liking. He curled up in the basket, licked his paws, and began to wash his ears.
    â€œBe a good boy,” I said, and turned out the overhead lights, leaving only the security light on in the workroom.
    The day had turned breezy and cool, so I slipped my denim jacket over my white shirt, slung my purse over my shoulder, and headed up the street to Down the Hatch. I was not looking forward to having dinner with my future mother-in-law, Francesca Salvare, because I wasn’t sure how to talk her out of sticking around for the next five months. The only positive thing about the forthcoming conversation was that it gave me something to think about other than that Grace could be the prime suspect in a murder investigation.
    Down the Hatch Bar and Grill was housed in a narrow, high-ceilinged building that stretched from Franklin Street to the alley in back, just like Bloomers. It had two rows of tables running parallel to the big plate-glass window up front, a polished walnut bar running long and deep, and a row of booths directly opposite it. Marco had purchased Down the Hatch a year ago, just before I’d emptied out my bank account to take over Bloomers. We’d met shortly afterward, when my freshly repainted 1960 Corvette suffered damage in a hit-and-run accident that ended up kicking off our first murder investigation.
    Marco’s bar was the local watering hole, and one of the hot spots in town, despite decor that hadn’t changed in almost forty years. I’d been urging Marco to remodel, but most of the patrons believed the interior should be left untouched because it was a piece of local history.
    I disagreed. If a town’s history could be represented by wall art consisting of a fake carp mounted on wood, a bright blue plastic anchor, 1970s-style orange padded benches, dark wood paneling, and an old fisherman’s net hanging from the ceiling, then the town needed an image makeover.
    I caught sight of Marco in the last booth, holding up his hand in greeting. His mother turned and waved, too. As I approached, she slid out of the booth and opened her arms.
    â€œBella Abby,” she said in her Italian-accented, full-throated voice. She gave me a fierce hug, then held me at arm’s length. “Here you are at last. We were beginning to worry.”
    Francesca was a tall, beautiful, energetic woman who’d been blessed with an hourglass figure, high, prominent cheekbones, the same big brown eyes Marco had, and a generous mouth. She had a wide, warm smile, and hair a rich brown color highlighted naturally with silver strands. To complement her red silk blouse and black trousers, she wore large, silver hoops in her ears and oversized, tortoiseshell-framed glasses that would have swallowed up my face, but made her look like a younger Sophia Loren. And no matter what time of day it was, Francesca always looked classy and elegant; unlike me, whose best moments were when I first walked out of the apartment. It went downhill from there.
    Marco