Butter Off Dead by Leslie Budewitz Read Free Book Online Page B

good friend, my partner in planning, the woman who might, not once but twice, have become my sister-in-law, was dead.
    *   *   *
    O utside, the sky had darkened. Leafless branches stood stark against the gray. The evergreens—fir, pine, blue spruce—leaned away from the cold front moving in.
    We had not been inside long. But it doesn’t take long for everything to change.
    I tugged at my collar and hunched my shoulders against the biting wind, hard grains of snow pelting my face as we crossed Cutoff Road to the fire hall. Inside, our uniformed escort pointed to hard chairs set at long plastic tables. The concrete floor and white walls, plastered with huge section maps of the fire district, made the place seem colder.
    A fireman strode in from the garage, shiny red engines visible behind him. He fiddled with a thermostat andstarted coffee. A deputy stood by each door, and while they did not bar the way or block us in, leaving did not feel like an option.
    Nick and I huddled at one table, Zayda and her parents at the next. I tried to conjure warm thoughts, but that reminded me of Christine, her warm skin cooling, her warm heart stopping.
    At least Nick was dressed for the weather. The Georges must have come straight from the Inn. Mimi had draped a coat over the black pants and blue blouse she wore to hostess, and Tony wore a faded baseball jacket over his grease-spattered chef’s whites.
    â€œKim,” Nick said, when she finally appeared. “It’s freezing in here. Can’t we talk somewhere else? Her cottage?”
    â€œStill being searched,” she said, and I felt a shock wave ripple through him. Nick had not been around last summer, when tragedy struck twice. Nick had not been around a lot these last few years, his field trips for work the reason Christine had given for breaking their engagement. It was finally hitting him that we were talking murder.
    Kim extended her hand toward me. “Recognize this?”
    In her palm lay a small plastic bag, a tiny silver horseshoe shape inside. I squinted. “No.”
    Zayda’s fingers flew to her left eyebrow. The silver ring she always wore was gone.
    â€œIs it yours?” Mimi asked her daughter.
    â€œWhere did you find it?” Tony asked Kim.
    â€œYou’re over sixteen,” Kim told Zayda. “You can choose whether you want to have a parent present during your interview. Or whether you want to call a lawyer.”
    â€œI don’t want to be interviewed,” Zayda said, her voice high and thin.
    â€œThat’s your right,” Detective Kim Caldwell replied, “but you might want to think it over.”
    â€œShe’ll tell you anything she knows,” Mimi said as Tony repeated, “Where did you find it?”
    â€œUnder the body.”
    Had it not been for the noisy wall heater, for the drip drip drip of the faucet onto the stainless steel sink, for the sighs and moans of the coffeemaker, you could have heard a pin drop. Or an eyebrow stud.
    â€œI went in, but I didn’t see her,” Zayda said, “so I decided to wait outside.” She wiped the back of her hand across her nose.
    â€œDid you argue? Did you shoot her?”
    At Nick’s demands, Tony rose and took a step forward, chin high, nostrils flaring. “My daughter wouldn’t hurt a flea. She doesn’t even know how to shoot,” Tony said. Mimi tugged at his sleeve, but she was clearly as upset as he.
    Nick’s brow furrowed and he glanced from father to daughter. I put a hand on his arm.
    â€œHow did you get in?” I asked the girl. “The back doors were locked. And there’s a security system.”
    Her ponytail flapped. “No, it was off. And they were open. One of them, anyway. It must have locked automatically behind me.”
    â€œThey don’t lock automatically,” Nick said. “You need to turn the bolt.”
    â€œWe were supposed to meet Christine.