news people following state workers around with their cameras, trying to catch someone in a wrongful situation. We all avoided that topic when Kristina was around.
Charlie Franklin stretched his long legs out in front of him. If he were more relaxed, he’d be asleep. He gave Kristina a smile and offered his opinion.
“Kristina, we’re aware of how you feel about public servants. It’s important that the police solve this crime, but truly, you must see that Melina and BettyJo are in a spot. We need to help them as much as possible.” He turned to the group, glanced at each person, smiled at Seanmhair, and then said to me, “We’ll do what we can. Mrs. Peterson was a wicked business woman who acted as though she was above us, but nobody should be murdered, especially like she was. If I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know, Melina.”
“I agree with Charlie. We’ll do whatever we can for you both,” Helena Bentwood, cupcake maker extraordinaire, addressed BettyJo and me.
“Oh, and I brought cupcakes if anyone wants one.” Helena slipped the box from under her folding chair and opened it before she passed it to Seanmhair. The box made the rounds. Each of us took a cake and made sounds of pure enjoyment as we ate the lovely creations from The Crafty Cupcake. Helena’s shop was wedged between George Carly’s antique store and Charlie Franklin’s Fine Art Collectibles. While her shop was only two doors away from mine, I tried to stay away from the delightful cakes Helena sold. I had enough fluff and didn’t need to add to it.
BettyJo had remained quiet during the conversation and questions posed by our mutual shop owners. What ran through her head was anyone’s guess. From the relieved expression on her face, it was a sure bet she’d found the meeting more beneficial than I had.
One by one, each renter left with a promise to contact when, and if, they came up with anything they considered useful to our snooping. Seanmhair waited for George Carly, the last to leave, to close the door behind him. When he was gone, Seanmhair said, “That was fairly interesting, but not as revealing as I’d hoped.”
“You didn’t think the killer would step forth, did you?” I asked.
With a shake of her head, Seanmhair answered, “Not likely, but then, I did get the feeling Sondra knew more than she wanted to share. You’ll be smart to watch that one.” Seanmhair thanked BettyJo for her hospitality and then shrugged into her coat.
I said I’d walk her to her car and promised BettyJo that I’d return shortly. BettyJo nodded and watched us from the back door window as we made our way to Seanmhair’s car. I waited until my grandmother drove away and then went back to BettyJo’s shop, Tingly Tarots. I wasn’t feeling very tingly, but I did smile at the name BettyJo had given her business.
Two glasses of wine sat on the table. I slouched into a chair and studied the rich, burgundy liquid.
“Did you put a potion in here, by any chance?” I asked with a grin.
“No, but I can if you want one. How about a love potion for you and Mr. Sinclair?” BettyJo offered with a humorous snort.
I brushed her offer aside and said, “No, no, I’m fine. What did you think of the meeting? Nobody was very forthcoming. Why were you as quiet as a mouse?”
“I wanted to see who’d speak up, what we’d learn, and I wanted a chance to watch their faces and listen to the nuances of their voices. Seanmhair seemed to be doing the same thing. It all helps when reading people,” BettyJo said. “I focused on each person as they spoke. Two have secrets, one knows why Mrs. Peterson died, and we have to get to the bottom of it all. I’m sure Detective Graham won’t detect enough to find the culprit. Frankly, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”
“Who has secrets?” I asked.
BettyJo gulped her wine, leaned both elbows on the table, and said, “Sondra knows more than she’s saying. She and Mrs. Peterson
Charlie Franklin stretched his long legs out in front of him. If he were more relaxed, he’d be asleep. He gave Kristina a smile and offered his opinion.
“Kristina, we’re aware of how you feel about public servants. It’s important that the police solve this crime, but truly, you must see that Melina and BettyJo are in a spot. We need to help them as much as possible.” He turned to the group, glanced at each person, smiled at Seanmhair, and then said to me, “We’ll do what we can. Mrs. Peterson was a wicked business woman who acted as though she was above us, but nobody should be murdered, especially like she was. If I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know, Melina.”
“I agree with Charlie. We’ll do whatever we can for you both,” Helena Bentwood, cupcake maker extraordinaire, addressed BettyJo and me.
“Oh, and I brought cupcakes if anyone wants one.” Helena slipped the box from under her folding chair and opened it before she passed it to Seanmhair. The box made the rounds. Each of us took a cake and made sounds of pure enjoyment as we ate the lovely creations from The Crafty Cupcake. Helena’s shop was wedged between George Carly’s antique store and Charlie Franklin’s Fine Art Collectibles. While her shop was only two doors away from mine, I tried to stay away from the delightful cakes Helena sold. I had enough fluff and didn’t need to add to it.
BettyJo had remained quiet during the conversation and questions posed by our mutual shop owners. What ran through her head was anyone’s guess. From the relieved expression on her face, it was a sure bet she’d found the meeting more beneficial than I had.
One by one, each renter left with a promise to contact when, and if, they came up with anything they considered useful to our snooping. Seanmhair waited for George Carly, the last to leave, to close the door behind him. When he was gone, Seanmhair said, “That was fairly interesting, but not as revealing as I’d hoped.”
“You didn’t think the killer would step forth, did you?” I asked.
With a shake of her head, Seanmhair answered, “Not likely, but then, I did get the feeling Sondra knew more than she wanted to share. You’ll be smart to watch that one.” Seanmhair thanked BettyJo for her hospitality and then shrugged into her coat.
I said I’d walk her to her car and promised BettyJo that I’d return shortly. BettyJo nodded and watched us from the back door window as we made our way to Seanmhair’s car. I waited until my grandmother drove away and then went back to BettyJo’s shop, Tingly Tarots. I wasn’t feeling very tingly, but I did smile at the name BettyJo had given her business.
Two glasses of wine sat on the table. I slouched into a chair and studied the rich, burgundy liquid.
“Did you put a potion in here, by any chance?” I asked with a grin.
“No, but I can if you want one. How about a love potion for you and Mr. Sinclair?” BettyJo offered with a humorous snort.
I brushed her offer aside and said, “No, no, I’m fine. What did you think of the meeting? Nobody was very forthcoming. Why were you as quiet as a mouse?”
“I wanted to see who’d speak up, what we’d learn, and I wanted a chance to watch their faces and listen to the nuances of their voices. Seanmhair seemed to be doing the same thing. It all helps when reading people,” BettyJo said. “I focused on each person as they spoke. Two have secrets, one knows why Mrs. Peterson died, and we have to get to the bottom of it all. I’m sure Detective Graham won’t detect enough to find the culprit. Frankly, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”
“Who has secrets?” I asked.
BettyJo gulped her wine, leaned both elbows on the table, and said, “Sondra knows more than she’s saying. She and Mrs. Peterson
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