Murder in a Basket (An India Hayes Mystery) by Amanda Flower Page B

Lepcheck’s sister.”
    Mains blinked at me. “Are you sure?”
    I nodded. “Tess told me herself yesterday.” I debated telling Mains about the argument I’d overheard between Tess and Lepcheck. In truth, I didn’t know what gave me pause. I had no reason to protect the provost. He barely tolerated me as it was, and I knew if my tenured library director, Lasha Lint, wouldn’t make a huge stink out of it, he would happily not renew my faculty contract for the next school year. Maybe I wanted to keep that tidbit to myself to protect Derek from more scandal. Everyone on campus knew Lepcheck, and soon enough, everyone would know that Lepcheck was his uncle.
    Mains swore and massaged his temples. Any time the Stripling Police Department had a run-in with a member of the Martin College community, it was headache for Mains. The college’s policy of dealing with crime was Deny, Deflect, Defend.
    In the case of Tess’s death, Martin would be locked up tighter than the U.S. Declaration of Independence. So Mains, knowing what he was about to go up against, certainly had ample justification to swear.
    “ What do you know about their relationship?”
    “ Nothing,” I said, which was pretty much true. I changed the subject. “Derek Welch, Tess’s son, is one of my students.”
    Mains peered at me. “So?”
    “ Just thought you’d like to know for the sake of full disclosure. He’s a little attached to me.”
    “ How so?”
    I bit my lip.
    Mains’s hazel-green eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re not planning to get involved.”
    “ Who, me?”
    “ Ricky!” Carmen snapped, saving me from finishing our conversation. “The festival starts in forty-five minutes. Can some of your officers help us move the booths?” She spotted me. “India, why does it look like your booth hasn’t been touched?”
    Mains looked heavenward as he slipped his tiny notepad into his jacket pocket. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    My brother-in-law , Chip, stood behind Carmen and shifted from foot to foot. Chip, whose baptismal name is Cristiano, was an attractive Italian-American with dark hair and eyes.
    “ Good.” She marched away. As she walked by her husband, she said, “Chip, find my bullhorn.”
    Chip jogged ahead of her.
    Mains looked at me. “What were you saying about Derek Welch?”
    Drat, I hoped that he’d forgotten. “It’s nothing.”
    Over the bullhorn—a pparently Chip had found it—we heard Carmen’s voice. “Crafters! Listen up! We need to move, move, move! Every able body, please, pitch in to help.”
    “ Well, I better start moving my stuff,” I said relieved.
    As I walked away, I looked back at Mains against my better judgment. Our gazes met. He looked confused, and I imagine my expression was much the same.

Chapter Nine
    By some miracle , or Carmen’s sheer force of will, the festival opened on time. All the booths were up, and the vendors and crafters were ready to start the day.
    As I painted faces, the visitors seemed unaware of the early morning events. At Carmen’s insistence, the police cruisers relocated to another parking lot to avoid attracting attention. Knute and Habash were stationed at the far end of the food vendors to stop any overzealous tourists from straying too far.
    I was just putting the finishing touches on a purple elephant adorning a little girl’s cheek when my cell phone chirped, telling me I had a new text message. I waited until the family left before reaching into my shoulder bag for the phone.
    The message was from Bobby. He and Erin , my student assistant, would be stopping by the festival later that afternoon.
    I put the phone back in my bag. Great, that was all I need ed, I thought. And what was he doing with Erin?
    Because the crafters were in tighter quarters on this side of the field, my small booth was wedged between the beaders and Lynette’s tea cozies. When there was a lull in the crowd, I pulled my folding chair closer to the beaders. There were three of them. As