Murder at Fire Bay by Ron Hess Read Free Book Online

mail.
    “Hi, Martha.”
    She looked up, a letter in mid-air. “Hello, Mr. Bronski.”
    I gave her a big smile. “Martha, even the union steward gets to call me Leo.”
    The letter flew to its slot, as if guided by some aerodynamic effect.
    “The other guy said using first names was too informal.”
    I just nodded. No need to go to digging into personalities, especially on the main floor.
    “I haven’t had breakfast. I was wondering if we might go to a restaurant for an hour?”
    “Sure, you’re the boss.”
    “I’ve found it’s easier to talk away from this hallowed place.”
    She smiled at that, and something told me I had won some more points.
    * * *
    We drove off in my Jeep with Martha making appropriate noises about whether I liked my new car, etc. I decided to keep this little get-together as professional as possible. I had no desire to have the townspeople wondering about the new postmaster squiring women about the town.
    “Martha, where’s a nice quiet place that has good food?”
    She put her finger alongside her nose, lost in thought.
    “I think the Early Riser’s Café ought to do. It’s out toward the dock.”
    “Good,” I said, “that’s where we’re going. How do you get there from here?”
    She gave me the directions and it took all of five minutes to get there. That’s one reason I liked living in small towns. My personal time was too valuable to be wasted traveling point to point. I actually pitied the poor devils that lived in big cities—and sincerely hoped they all stayed there.
    We pulled up in front of a small wooden building and went inside. Martha immediately made for a table.
    “I bet you’ve been here before,” I said, trying to crack a small joke.
    She smiled her acknowledgement. “Oh, yes, many times. The food is good and the owners are friendly.”
    I nodded and sat down. One of the women owners came over and cracked a joke with Martha about bringing in all these good-looking guys.  
    After we ordered our breakfast, I began the small talk. “So tell me about yourself, Martha. Are you married? Kids?”
    She sighed and I wondered if I had already gotten too personal.
    “I was married a few years ago, but it didn’t work out. We were certainly old enough—in our thirties. Maybe we were too old, I don’t know, too set in our ways. I wanted children and I thought he did, but as time went on, I realized he didn’t.”
    I, too, sighed. “Sorry if I got too personal, but I’ve found in the past it’s good to know something about your employees.”
    There was a moment’s silence as we got used to each other.
    “And you, Leo?”  
    “Huh? Oh, I’m married to a wonderful woman out West at Howes Bluff. My second try, but I think this one will work, despite the fact she’s native and I’m white.”
    “And your first marriage?” she asked.
    There it was. I had to answer, but I decided to give only a little information. I’m sure I frowned when I said, “My first wife and daughter died in a car accident.”
    No need to tell her I had run into a bridge abutment while drunk. She didn’t need to know about all my baggage.
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    I gave her a small smile. “It was a long time ago, but yeah, it still hurts.”
    Our food came, thank goodness. We’d had enough personal talk. I began laying out in my mind how I was going to ask her about the death of the supervisor. I decided to be direct. This woman was nobody’s fool.
    “One of the reasons I asked you out for a late breakfast, Martha, was to find out about the previous supervisor.”
    Her fork, with its dripping egg yolk, paused in mid-air. She stared at me a second with narrowed eyes; then the fork continued on its way. She chewed and swallowed, still staring at me. Just when I thought I had lost all my points with her, she spoke.
    “Why do you want to know?” The icicles in her voice could not have been frozen harder. I tried to sound indifferent. “Oh, just curious about the recent death