Murder Most Maine by Karen MacInerney Read Free Book Online Page B

it,” I said.
    Gwen planted one hand on her slender hip. “I still think you should say something.”
    “We’ll see.” I grabbed a dishtowel and started wiping down the counters.
    “What do you want me to do about the tables for tomorrow?” Gwen asked as we put the last dish away a few minutes later.
    “I have to measure and plate everything, so don’t worry about dishes, but if you could set out the silverware and the cups, that would be great. I’ll get everything set up in the kitchen.”
    “Will do,” she said, and headed into the dining room to get the tables ready for the morning. When the door swung shut behind her, I reached for the cookie jar. The lid was off and I was breathing in the aroma of ginger and cinnamon, fingers about to close around a cookie, when my sagging willpower kicked in. I pulled my hand out and thrust the lid back down.
    “Oatmeal,” I told myself sternly. “You’re in here to prep the oatmeal.”
    I had just opened the pantry and pulled out a can of pureed pumpkin when Gwen pushed back through the kitchen door. “Done already?” I asked.
    She sucked in her breath. “Not yet. But John’s here.”
    “Really?” I said, wondering why he hadn’t come to the kitchen door. “Why don’t you tell him to come join me in the kitchen?”
    Gwen bit her lip and said nothing.
    “What is it?” I asked, although something told me I didn’t want to know.
    “I’ll go tell him,” she said, “but right now he’s on the couch in the other room. With Vanessa.”
    I put the can of pumpkin down and leaned against the counter, feeling a little light-headed. And not just because of the near-starvation diet.
    “Why don’t I take care of the kitchen while you go talk to him?” Gwen offered.
    “No,” I said. No way I was going to hover around like a jealous girlfriend. When I was done in the kitchen, I’d consider heading into the living room, but I wasn’t going to go scurrying off to keep John from talking with another woman. Even if that woman was gorgeous—and an ex-girlfriend to boot. “I think I’ll finish up in here. If he wants to see me, he knows where to find me.”
    “Are you sure?” she said softly.
    I nodded and reached blindly for the pumpkin pie spice as the door swung shut behind Gwen. Stay cool , I told myself. They’re old friends, that’s all. And besides, you need the business .
    After measuring out the oatmeal and spices and setting up the coffee pot (I’d recently invested in one with a timer, which had made dark winter mornings much more bearable), I checked my reflection in the window over the sink and prepared to face John. And Vanessa.

Vanessa’s throaty laugh greeted me as I pushed through the kitchen door. I ignored the pang of jealousy that clutched at my chest as I arranged my face in a pleasant expression and headed past Gwen into the living room.
    Just as Gwen said, they were on my overstuffed blue sofa, in front of the fire I had lit earlier that afternoon. On opposite ends, at least, but their body language was anything but distant; Vanessa was semi-stretched out on the couch, her delicate sock-clad toes just inches from John’s knee, and John was leaning toward her, green eyes glued to her heart-shaped face.
    “Hi,” I said.
    “Natalie!” Vanessa said, turning to look at me. The glow of the fire deepened the hollows under her cheekbones and made her dark eyes and glossy hair shine. “We were just reminiscing about old times. Won’t you join us?”
    John’s gaze flickered to me—a little guiltily, perhaps?—and I could see what a handsome couple the two of them made. They looked like those pictures you see in House Beautiful magazine—the happy couple relaxing in their gorgeous period home, enjoying a few hours by the fire. Only this was my inn, not theirs—and besides, they weren’t a couple. But they used to be , a little voice whispered in my head.
    “Actually, I think I’ll just turn in early,” I said, determined to be