Read Online You Can't Get Blood Out of Shag Carpet: A Study Club Cozy Murder Mystery (The Study Club Mysteries Book 1) by Juliette Harper - Free Book Online

for a dime, in for a dollar, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, it has been suggested that DDT has a certain effect on . . . men,” he finished lamely.
    For just an instant he saw realization dawn in Clara’s eyes and then it was gone, replaced by a look that told him he was not going to like what came out of her mouth next. He was right.
    “So, Mike, if you’re so worried about what insecticides might do to your manly parts,” she said, fixing him with a triumphant glare, “why were you letting Hilton Milton spray your marijuana plants?”
    That caught him so completely off guard, the next words slipped out before Mike could stop them, “I never let him spray my . . .”
    “Ah hah!” Clara said, slamming her hand down on his desk. “Got you! You are dealing drugs.”
    Mike felt a cold trickle of sweat start down the collar of his shirt. “Please lower your voice,” he said urgently. “I most certainly am not a drug dealer.”
    “You can start backing up all you want to, Mike Thornton,” she said, shaking a diamond-bedecked finger in his face, “but you know you’re growing pot, and I know you’re growing it, and Hilton Milton was at your house the day before he wound up dead in his living room.”
    A look of horror crossed Mike’s face. “Now wait just a minute!” he said earnestly. “Me growing weed doesn’t have anything to do with Hilton being dead. He was one of my best . . .” The words frittered out into a confused stammer.
    “Customer?” Clara supplied helpfully.
    Mike gulped and nodded, but said nothing.
    “So are you still gonna try to tell me you’re not dealing drugs?” she demanded.
    “Pot isn’t a drug,” Mike said defensively. “It’s not like I’m selling heroin. I don’t do drugs.”
    “Do you smoke your own pot?” Clara asked.
    Mike nodded again.
    “Then you do drugs,” she said dismissively. “Now you better start telling me about Hilton and this little private garden of yours, or we’re marching right over to the courthouse and having this conversation in front of the Sheriff.”
    Now sweating profusely, Mike described how he grew his plants under special lights in his basement. He’d worked as an electrician’s assistant to help pay his bills in college, so he’d done the rewiring himself, leaving no one the wiser about his covert greenhouse.
    “I don’t have the plants sprayed,” he said. “But I had water bugs upstairs big enough to move furniture and I couldn’t get rid of them, so I called Hilton. He just came right out and asked about the pot. He wanted to do a trade, and I agreed.”
    “When was this?” Clara asked.
    “More than a year ago,” Mike said. “About a month after he was there, Hilton knocked on my door. When I let him in, he said he really liked my weed and he was wondering if he could buy some. I don’t deal. I just sell to a few friends. The money covers my overhead. We set up a monthly ‘appointment.’ Hilton would come over and hang out for an hour like he was spraying the place. Sometimes we’d smoke a joint and talk. He was a good guy. I liked him. And I did not kill him. Why would I?”
    Clara looked at him like he had two heads. “To cover up your illegal drug operation.”
    “Mrs. Wyler,” Mike said sincerely, “I have a dozen marijuana plants in my basement. It’s not a drug operation. And even if it was, I wouldn’t kill somebody over it. I’m a pacifist. Seriously, I didn’t kill Hilton and I have no idea who did.”
    She wasn’t exactly sure why, but Clara believed him. “Well, alright,” she said, standing up. “I think we should just keep this little talk to ourselves, don’t you?”
    “Oh, yes, ma’am,” he agreed readily. “Absolutely. Thank you.”
    Clara started for the door, but Mike stopped her with a question. “Did the Sheriff find Hilton’s stash?” he asked.
    Clara turned toward him with a perplexed frown. “His what?” she said.
    “Hilton left my place the day before he was