Murder, She Wrote Domestic Malice by Donald Bain Read Free Book Online

one of the other competitions,” she said. “We’re going to be inundated with blueberry pies, and I’m desperate for good judges. I’ve got Charlene Sassi, but everyone else I’ve asked turned me down.”
    “I’m sure Seth would help you out,” I said.
    “Already called him and he declined.”
    “He did?”
    “He said he gained three pounds with last year’s contest and still hasn’t taken them off. He’s not willing to add to the total.”
    “Well, that’s prudent of him,” I said. “He could stand to lose a pound or two.”
    “Or three. So are you in?”
    “Tell you what,” I said, not eager to add to my weight either. “If you can’t find anyone else, I’ll fill in, in a pinch. But I’d really rather not be a judge.”
    “Fair enough. I’ll keep looking, but in the meantime, I’ll send you the judging instructions. By the way, did you see Richard’s picture of the river that runs behind Dick Mauser’s plant?”
    “No. Which one is it?” I asked, scanning the top row of photographs.
    “This one down here,” Tobé said, leading me to a photo of leaves floating on the water; the base of a brick building could be seen in the background. Richard had added color to the picture, tinting the rocks along the shore and several of the leaves spilling down the bank a bilious acid green.
    “He’s making a political statement, wouldn’t you say?” I said to Tobé.
    “No doubt about it, but it’s hardly undeserved,” she replied.
    “Has anyone come up with any proof that Mauser’s plant is polluting the river?”
    “We should have it soon,” Tobé said. “Jack says the team from the Environmental Protection Agency is expected to arrive any day.”
    “Is that official?” I asked.
    “He heard it this afternoon from a councilwoman who brought in her corgi to be spayed.”
    “I wonder why the river preservation commission hasn’t been informed,” I said.
    “You’ll probably get the word in the morning,” she replied. “Frankly, I hope they come up with a finding that really rakes Mauser over the coals, hits him with a hefty fine that torches his bottom line. And I’m not the only one to feel that way.”
    I was surprised to hear Tobé wishing a harsh result on anyone. Her kindness to four-legged creatures usually extended to the two-legged kind as well. Clearly, Mauser had alienated many in the community.
    But later that night after I’d gotten home, changed for bed, and started reading my new Molly MacRae novel, Lawn Order , I was struck with how dramatically and swiftly events had occurred that would impact the town. Only a few days earlier, the most exciting news stories in Cabot Cove were plans for the upcoming annual lobster and blueberry festivals, high school sports, an occasional case of teenage vandalism, and other less-than-monumental happenings.
    Now Josh Wolcott’s murder, his history as a wife abuser should it ever come out, and a federal agency arriving to investigate Richard Mauser’s business would be splashed on the front pages of the Cabot Cove Gazette and would dominate conversation.
    I know that the so-called good ol’ days weren’t necessarily as good as we like to think they were, but I silently wished for a return to them as I closed my book, and my eyes.

Chapter Six
     
    Y ou haven’t been posting anything lately and I wonder if you are OK. —Janet
    * * *
     
    I answered a call from Edwina Wilkerson the following morning as I was putting away the groceries I had ordered. “I just heard from Myriam Wolcott,” she said. “She’s asked me to visit her.”
    “Did she say why?”
    “She wants to speak with me about her visit to the shelter’s office. She asked whether you’d come.”
    “I barely know her.”
    “But you were there that night, Jessica. I know you’re busy, but I’d really be grateful if you would come with me.”
    “When are you planning to go?”
    “Later this morning, at eleven. I can pick you up.”
    “All right,” I said.