April Fool Dead by Carolyn Hart Read Free Book Online

of Emma’s pink Rolls-Royce veered perilously near the ditch, the wheels churned in the dust, then the big car bucked forward.
    Annie leaned out her window and pointed. “Follow that car!” she shouted to Max. Okay, when else would she ever have an opportunity to call out that immortal line?
    Max laughed but wrenched the steering wheel, and his small, easily maneuverable Ferrari pivoted and zoomed in pursuit.
    Follow that car…Yes, she’d had an instant of fun, but the moment of lightheartedness didn’t ease the hard, cold knot of anger lodged somewhere in her chest, as real and debilitating as a wound. Someone had taken the good name of her store—and her own good name—and trashed them just as surely as a vandal cracking glass or flinging paint. She’d scarcely had time to absorb the reality of the bogus flyer, but she knew Emma was right. Someone had ripped open a wasps’ nest and lots of innocent people were going to suffer, and many of them, so very many, were going to think it was all Annie’s fault. Now there was apparently yet another flyer.
    â€œMax”—she spoke through clenched teeth—“Max.” She couldn’t say another word. Hot tears burned her eyes.
    Max reached out, gripped her hand. “Come on, honey. We’ll see it through. We’ll tell the world it wasn’t you. We’ll find out who did this and we’ll make sure everyone knows.”
    Annie clung to his hand, blinked away the tears. There was no time to cry. Now was the time to fight. If only she knew who the enemy was…Her cell phone rang. She took a deep breath, punched it on and managed to sound almost like herself. “Yes?”
    â€œFollow me.” With that brusque command, Emma clicked off.
    Annie pointed at the Rolls-Royce. “Our leader has spoken.” She was irritated, but, dammit, if she had to be in a foxhole, it was good to have a real soldier in there with her. Even a brusque soldier. Annie managed a smile. “Do you suppose it’s too late for Emma to takecharm lessons? But what amazes me, Marigold Rembrandt sheds charm faster than Ariadne Oliver scatters apple cores.” Annie was a great fan of the charming detective-story author purported to be the good-humored self-portrait of Agatha Christie.
    â€œThey say all the characters in a book reflect some facet of the author’s personality.” Max didn’t speak with conviction.
    â€œEmma must be the exception to that rule.” Annie leaned forward. “Look, she’s turning.”
    Max slowed. “God, that way?”
    The gap between bayberry bushes was almost invisible.
    Annie understood. Max hand-waxed his Ferrari and this was a man who limited physical exertion to tennis and golf. And sex, of course.
    Max gripped the wheel, turned into the rough road. “I hope she knows where she’s going.” He winced, his handsome face twisting in misery as the front tires jolted in the uneven ruts.
    The live oaks squeezed so close that Spanish moss trailed over the windshield like wisps of fog. A low-hanging branch scraped the roof. Max made a noise between pain and agony.
    â€œJust think”—Annie believed in looking on the bright side—“Emma’s car is much bigger and it’s going through just fine.”
    Max hunched over the wheel. “My God, the track’s getting narrower. And the cemetery’s in the other direction. Where does she think she’s taking us? Hey, wait, where did she go?”
    One minute the massive pink Rolls-Royce wasdimly visible through the cloud of dust; the next it was gone.
    Max picked up speed, slowed immediately. “Annie, did you see that?” He pointed into the dim tangle of shrubs beneath a grove of pines.
    Annie hung from her side of the car, looking ahead. “I think Emma turned right. It looks like there’s a”—she didn’t want to say path or trail or Max might simply