Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry by Denise Swanson Read Free Book Online Page A

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    No one seemed to have an answer, and a few minutes later May asked, “What made you decide to enter, Butch?”
    “I didn’t.” His smile was boyish. “I’m a firefighter, and the guys at my stationhouse love my spaghechili, so they sent in the recipe.”
    “Spaghechili?”
    “It’s a combination of my Italian grandmother’s spaghetti recipe and my Mexican grandmother’s chili recipe.” Butch grinned. “I came up with it when I didn’t have enough ingredients for either to feed the whole crew.”
    “Very clever,” Skye complimented him.
    “Clever, my eye,” May muttered. “That’s not a recipe; that’s leftovers.”
    “Uh,” Skye said quickly, forestalling May’s next comment, “so you’re a Laurel firefighter? Do you know our police chief, Wally Boyd?”
    “Sure. He’s a great guy.”
    “My mom works for him as a dispatcher.”
    “I’m a police, fire, and emergency dispatcher.” May’s eyes narrowed. “My paycheck is signed by the mayor, not Wally.”
    “Oh, I see.” Butch looked at Skye, then May. “I’ve probably heard you on the radio.”
    May nodded, then said, “I’ll bet you know Simon Reid too, the county coroner.”
    “Right.” Butch handed the waitress his plate and ordered lemon meringue pie for dessert. “Not well. He sort of keeps to himself, you know?”
    “He’s friendlier once you get to know him.” May shook her head at the waitress’s offer of dessert. “He’s Skye’s boyfriend, so we know him in a different way, of course.”
    “No, he isn’t,” Skye blurted out. “He and I stopped seeing each other six months ago. Actually I’m dating Wally now, but Mom refuses to believe Simon and I have broken up for good.”
    May harrumphed, nudging Skye. “Butch doesn’t care about your love life.”
    Skye felt her face redden. “But you said …” Why did May always do this to her? Why did she start something, then make Skye feel like the one in the wrong? Skye stuttered to a stop. Anything she said to defend herself would make it worse. “Of course, sorry.” When everyone else resumed the conversation, she hissed in her mom’s ear, “You brought up the subject of Wally and Simon, so back off.”
    May harrumphed again, then turned her attention to another tablemate. “What about you, Monika? Did Grandma Sal say you were from Brooklyn?”
    “Yes,” the attractive blonde answered before pushing aside her nearly untouched plate. “I’m lucky it’s only eight miles from here.”
    “I have a lot of relatives in Brooklyn,” May said. “Do you know the head librarian, Jayne? She’s one of my cousins.”
    “Yes.” Monika reached into her purse and took out a Ziploc bag. “She’s one of my clients.”
    May peered at the woman as she opened the plastic sack and started snacking from it. “Didn’t you like your lunch?”
    Monika hesitated, then explained, “I have severe food allergies and can’t eat anything with dairy or gluten. I ordered a chicken breast broiled without butter, but they breaded it, and then I was afraid the fries had been in the same oil used to deep-fry other foods with breading.”
    “Such a small trace would be a problem for you?” May probed, a look of disbelief on her face.
    “Yes, even a tiny bit could cause me to become extremely ill and possibly die.”
    “You poor thing.” May patted the woman’s hand.
    Skye wrinkled her brow. If she had a food allergy that severe, would she be brave enough to come to a cooking contest, where someone’s innocent crumbs could kill her?
    As May had predicted, they were running late, but it wasn’t Skye’s fault. The responsibility lay with Grandma Sal, who was turning out to be a girl who just couldn’t say no. All the townspeople in the restaurant and all the Feed Bag employees wanted an autograph and their picture takenwith her. Skye had never seen anyone sign boxes of cake mix, tubes of biscuits, and packets of dry pasta before.
    Finally, about three o’clock, a full