Cold Hollow (Cold Hollow Mysteries Book 1) by Emilie J. Howard Read Free Book Online

staggering.
    Angus laughed as he pointed at the man’s stockpile. “Did you say last year was a slow year?”
    Artie shuffled his feet as he nodded. He glanced up at Sophia and asked, “You interested? I can guarantee the freshness and guarantee that they will make the best filling for pies, turnovers, or whatever it is you bake.”
    Sophia was busy at the shelves, writing in her little notepad. She turned briefly to Artie. “There are no prices listed. I’d also like to taste a bit of each item I order, if that’s all right?”
    He continued shuffling his feet and glanced at her sheepishly. “Price depends on the till, ma’am.” He seemed to think about it a bit and added, “But the more you buy, the lower the price. I’ll let you taste whatever you have a mind to.”
    Sophia smiled and told him as long as he guaranteed freshness, then she would probably become a regular customer. Angus and the children left the two of them to their business and went back out to roam the orchards.
    Sophia placed a phenomenal order and had Artie lowering the price with each item she tasted and ordered. He seemed to have more stockpiled than he himself realized and began making fun of himself. When Sophia asked him if he feared the apocalypse, he nearly cackled out of his work boots.
    Artie tallied his income as the Barners pulled out of his driveway. He let loose a sigh of relief and relaxed, knowing he was now well ahead of the till payment. He kicked the dirt as he made his way back to his small cottage. He then kicked it again, hesitated, and began digging a hole with his bare hands. His knuckles became gnarled and swollen. When the hole was deep enough, he jumped in it, curled up, and took a nice nap. Artie was a quirky fellow.
     
    ***
     
    Myrna Bradbury sat in her sewing room, finishing off the curtains for the bakery. She then set to work on the tablecloths. She made extra because she knew that as some were laundered, others would be needed as replacements.
    When she was done, she ran to her old recipe box and dug out all the recipes for desserts that she could find. She sorted them out and picked her favorites. She then stuck them in her purse to bring to work in the morning. She ironed the curtains, bundled them neatly alongside the tablecloths, and set them on the counter by the side door so she wouldn’t forget them. She then dug through her closet to find a halfway decent top to wear to work in the morning with her new jeans. She found a beautiful, pale-yellow blouse that she had not worn in years. It did not clash with her red hair and pale-blue eyes, so she placed it one side.
    Myrna later stood with her hands on her hips in her driveway. She stared at Bob’s pickup truck and grimaced. It was filthy, just as he had been. She had no current mode of transportation and began the sad task of scrubbing the vehicle down. When she opened the side doors to air it out, she gagged. The stench emanating from the interior was gut wrenching. She took an old scarf from her back pocket and tied it around her face like a cowboy facing a dust storm. She had rubber gloves on that ran up to her elbows and a garbage bag by her side. She hauled at least a month’s worth of refuse from under the two seats and floor of the vehicle. When she looked at the rear view mirror, her upper lip curled in distaste. Her dead husband had a fondness for those little air fresheners in the shape of pine trees. Myrna hated them. Their cloying scent blended with the refuse in the truck in the most offensive way that she couldn’t imagine them being attractive to anyone’s olfactory senses. Bob didn’t have one hanging there-no. He had a goddamn collection of them in varying colors. She tore them down with one swipe and tossed them in the garbage bag. 
    After washing and waxing the exterior of the truck, she lowered the windows and decided it needed to air out for a few days.
    Going to her garden in the backyard, she harvested the vegetables that were