Death Takes Priority by Jean Flowers Read Free Book Online

goodness.”
    â€œEverybody back to business,” Sunni said. “Let me and my squad do our jobs and pretty soon you’ll have all the facts you need to twist into a good story.” She winked at the crowd in general, then approached me. While the townsfolk resumed conversation, undeterred by the word of the law, Sunni addressed me in a near whisper. “Can you come down to the station, Cassie? A few questions, if you don’t mind. We can wait till you close up.”
    My throat clutched, as if I weren’t just another member of the uninformed, but a person of interest. I tried to focus on Sunni’s tone. A request, not a command. Almost giving me a choice—
if you don’t mind
—unlike her approach to Scott.
    I’d known Sunni only for the three months I’d been home; she’d arrived in North Ashcot about four years ago, long after I’d left for Boston. I’d had to deal with various official protocols regarding my aunt’s death, and Sunni either took care of things or directed me toward those who could help. We’d developed a friendship of sorts. Now and then she’d bring her lunch to the post office and we’d rap about politics and world affairs, or our preference in hairstyles. One time we’d met at the farmers’ market and gone for coffee together afterward.
    I had a feeling that our upcoming conversation would be more of the cop-to-citizen variety than the girlfriend-to-girlfriend variety.
    I looked over the heads of the slowly dissipating crowd to catch Ben’s eye. In one corner, Selectwoman Gert Corbin was in a huddle with Derek Hathaway. I would have assumed that Derek had little business here, now that he was a star in the New York State capital. It was hard to tell who was pitching to whom when the high and mighty gathered. Was Gert preaching about a gambling-free North Ashcot, or was Derek negotiating a land deal that would bring him more money?
    Although he was stuck behind the counter, Ben, my loyal back-up, hadn’t missed a beat. He gave me a nod that I took to mean I could leave with Sunni now; he had it covered. I guessed that no matter how sweetly a member of lawenforcement asked you to report to her office, it was best to respond immediately.
    I gave Sunni a neutral smile. “I’m ready to go if you are,” I said.
    â€œNo one’s going to miss me here,” she said.
    â€œThat makes two of us.”

4
    T he North Ashcot police station was across the street and down three blocks from the post office. In the first block, well-kept lawns were spread in front of mostly white or pastel-colored clapboard houses. Various combinations of tricycles, leather-seated swing sets, and the beginnings of what would be Christmas scenes were visible on porches and on the pathways.
    I had a flashback to neighborhood tours with my parents when I was a kid, when families competed with each other for the most elaborate decorations in town. Santa and his reindeer on the roof? Easy. Elves in the garden, making motion-activated robotlike gestures? So last year. Metal sleighs, candy canes, giant plastic snowmen, oversized candles, scary-tall wooden soldiers? The bigger, the better.
    I’d heard that the custom did not survive the years. Neither had my parents, who’d died in a car crash, their vehicleloaded with Christmas presents a few months before my sixteenth birthday. It had taken a few years, but, with Aunt Tess’s help in the beginning, I finally learned to dwell on the best memories, and how lucky I’d been to have them through my childhood. Still, I hadn’t looked forward to Christmas the same way since. Nor my birthday either, in fact.
    The conversation, or lack of, between Sunni and me today required little attention, which was handy for my reverie. We walked abreast whenever the broken sidewalk permitted, and chatted about the lovely fall weather, the new shoe shop in town, and the burning question