Last Wool and Testament: A Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery by Molly MacRae Read Free Book Online

started snoring, I would have kicked him in the shin. But either my words or something in my tone got him back on his feet, even if I pretty obviously hadn’t endeared myself to him any further. I drew myself up as tall as five-three in low-heeled boots allows and planted myself in front of him.
    “Deputy, you are right. I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. So fill me in. It’s been a long, trying, emotional day, and now I want answers so I can decide what to do.” Granny would have tut-tutted because I didn’t say “please” that time, but by then I didn’t care.
    “Well, it’s like this, little Miss Kath—”
    “Oh, no, no, no. Wait. It’s not like that at all, Deputy Dunbar. I am not “little Miss” anything.” I gave him a look I’ve used with good effect on junior curators who mishandle fragile textiles.
    Dunbar only rolled his eyes. “Beg pardon, Ms. Rutledge. The facts are these. Emmett Cobb, caretaker here at the Holston Homeplace Living History Farm and resident of this house, was found dead two weeks ago. Upstairs. In his bed. Poisoned.”
    I suddenly felt like coughing, maybe even gagging as I imagined toxic, noxious vapors swirling in eddies around us. “Wow. Okay, that’s awful.” I cleared my throat, swallowed. “Um, what kind of poison was it?”
    “I forget the name. It was in something he drank, though. Not a real quick exit.”
    “That’s horrible.”
    “Yeah, very messy. High retch factor involved, if you know what I mean. Can’t imagine anybody wanting to sleep up there after what I saw.”
    We looked at each other, noses wrinkled, then tilted our heads back and looked at the ceiling, he now frowning and grim, me trying not to picture what he’d seen up there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shiver run through him. For an absurd second I was tempted to reach around his back and tap his shoulder and yell “Boo.” But that was a gun in his holster.
    “But you caught the, the…”
    “Bad guy? No, we did not. Bad guy, one. Cops, zip. Old Em, zipped up and six feet under.” He grinned nastily at my reaction to his scorecard.
    And, me being me, I reacted again. “Deputy Dunbar, what do you call it when a policeman talks to a civilian? Is there a term for that?”
    “Huh?”
    “You know, with a doctor it’s called bedside manner. Is there an equivalent term for cops talking to regularpeople? Roadside manner, maybe? Or how about badgeside manner?”
    “I don’t get it. What are you talking about?”
    “I’m talking about whatever it is you don’t have. Whatever it’s called, you need to sign up for a refresher course in it, maybe see if you can get some kind of continuing education credit for brushing up. I’ve only met you twice and the first time we probably didn’t even exchange a hundred words. Yet each time we’ve met, you’ve managed to be insensitive, sneering, and downright rude. Why? Is this how you always are? Or is it a problem you have with women? Or is it just a problem you have with me? And if that’s the case, then what is that problem? You don’t even know me. You know what? I’m like you; I don’t get it.” My voice might have risen a tad toward shrill.
    Deputy Clod clapped his hat back on his head. “I’ll tell you a story, Ms. Rutledge. A couple of weeks ago, I sat out there in the kitchen with Emmett Cobb. We played a little friendly poker. I had a beer and Em had his usual glass of sweet tea because he wasn’t much of a drinker. In fact, Em wasn’t much of anything but an old guy. And then, next thing I know, not two days later, Em winds up dead. Dead in a way I wouldn’t wish on a dog or that dog’s worst enemy. And now here you are moving into Em’s house. Well, excuse me if I’m a little worked up. You asked if we’ve caught the murderer. You asked if I knew your grandmother. You can draw whatever lines or conclusions you like between those two statements. I’ll be happy to wait while you do that,