Killing Thyme by Leslie Budewitz Read Free Book Online Page B

scene?”

Five

    What if you knew her
    And found her dead on the ground?
    How can you run when you know?
    â€”Neil Young, “Ohio”
    There are cool June days in Seattle. This was not one of them, and if the bakery had AC, it wasn’t keeping up. My chill came from what I’d seen in the studio. The triple shot I’d drunk earlier meant the one the barista had pressed into my hands would put me way over my limit—I’d have the shakes by noon. A new medical phenomenon—
caffeinum tremens
.
    What I needed was a cold glass of water, to wash the sour taste of vomit out of my mouth.
    Before I could answer him, Detective Tracy had been called down to the crime scene, leaving me with the beat cop, Officer Don’t You Dare. He worked out of the South Precinct. He didn’t know me, and his face barely registered when I mentioned Officer Tag Buhner of the West Precinct Bicycle Patrol. He flipped to a new page in his notebook. “Now, who are you, and why are you snooping around?”
    â€œI
told
you. I’m a friend of Bonnie Clay. The victim.When she didn’t show up for work in the Market this morning, I got worried. I knew she lived below the bakery, and I know the owner—”
    â€œWell, aren’t you the social butterfly?”
    â€œSo I called Josh, and he found her and called you. 911. I came right down. I . . .” My words trailed off, stretched thin by adrenaline.
    â€œNow why would you do that?”
    â€œBecause she’s a big-hearted woman who drops everything when a friend’s in danger.”
    Our heads turned, and Officer Don’t stood. “You know this woman, Detective?”
    â€œWe go way back,” Detective Cheryl Spencer said.
    All the way back to last fall and a series of unfortunate incidents in the Market. Actually, we’d been acquainted before that, through Tag and the annual police officers’ picnic, but we’d forged our own relationship in recent months.
    â€œA chai latte, please,” she told the hovering barista, then pulled a chair up to our table. The budding ballerinas had dispersed, picked up by parents anxious over the police fleet blocking off the street and the barricade keeping looky-loos away. Now that the word was out—“dead,” “murdered”—I imagined thumbs were flying on Twitter or whatever social media site drew the tutu set.
    â€œPepper, I’m so sorry. Was she a friend?”
    â€œYes. Old family friend.” I gripped my rapidly cooling cup. That much I could say for sure.
    Rare to see Spencer without Tracy. (They won’t arrest you for making the joke, but they won’t laugh, either.) The tall, cool blonde and her short, stocky black partner were Mutt and Jeff, salt and pepper, opposites who complemented each other.
    He and I were oil and water.
    â€œNow, fill me in.”
    Outside the plate glass window, another patrol officerdirected the CSU investigators and the ME’s crew to the basement.
    â€œVictim was a tenant. Bonnie Clay, age unknown, reportedly a potter.” Officer Don’t read his notes with no trace of amusement, but Spencer’s lips twitched. I turned away, staring at the blank white walls. The upbeat music made my skin itch.
    â€œAccording to the baker, Josh Gibson, who is also—”
    The front door opened, and said baker entered, trailed by Detective Tracy. “And I’m telling
you
,” Josh said over his shoulder, “this wedding is at two o’clock, in the Arboretum, and if you don’t let me leave in the next five minutes, thousands of dollars’ worth of food will be ruined. Along with my business and my reputation.”
    â€œSir, you are a witness to a major felony.”
    â€œI didn’t witness anything. All I did was find her.” Josh pivoted and held his arms open wide, palms out. Pleading.
    Spencer’s highlighted bob barely swayed as she shifted focus to her