The Focaccia Fatality by J. M. Griffin Read Free Book Online

morning.
    “Have you been up all night?” she asked and stuffed a wedge of the scrumptious roll into her mouth.
    I poured coffee, set out sugar and milk and a couple of plates for more brioches while Sean continued to munch. “Have you seen the news?” I asked.
    “Just a snippet of it this morning. Why?”
    A sigh escaped me as I stared at my grandmother, wondering how to tell her of my new not-so-wonderful adventure.
    “What is it, tell me right now,” Sean demanded.
    After I’d related a portion of the evening’s events, Sean burst out with, “Aidan is back?”
    Was that all she could say in light of what I’d just shared with her? Good grief. I opened my mouth when BettyJo flew through the back door. This was a bad sign. I poured her a cup of coffee and got another plate from the stack on the shelf.
    “Have you seen the news? Vincent Gallagher has been interviewed by the police and the media is all over it. Your name wasn’t mentioned, but he looks pretty ticked off. I’d watch out if I were you, Mel.” BettyJo eyeballed the brioche and I handed the laden plate to her. She took two rolls, dragged the butter dish toward her, and asked for jelly.
    I wondered how she managed to stay reed thin when she ate more than I did. Life can be quite unfair. Remnants of blueberry jam sat in a jar in the fridge. I handed it over and asked, “What were his comments to the media, or were there any?”
    Around a mouthful of goodness, BettyJo said, “He said it was all a misunderstanding. No murder had been committed at his home and he didn’t know the deceased woman. He also gave his usual ‘saddened by such a terrible situation’ spiel.” With a shake of her head, she added, “Same old political crap.”
    Sean chuckled, asked what I thought of the whole thing, and then readied to be saleswoman of the day by wrapping her crisp, white apron around her plump figure. She straightened the bow, tied neatly at her supposed waist.
    “I don’t know what to think. The police will investigate, and hopefully the killer will be brought to justice. Until then, we have a business to run, holiday shopping to do, and I have to get a Christmas tree to put up in my apartment.”
    A knock at the door preceded Carl Mack’s entry. “Mel, do you have our order ready for today?” he asked.
    “Sure, sorry. I planned to scoot over with it, but got waylaid. I put in some extras for you this morning,” I said and handed him the rack filled with bagged sandwich rolls and fresh dough.
    He smiled, asked if I was all right, and headed for the door when I nodded. He turned and said, “We’re getting together on Thursday night to eat, drink, and be merry. Would you ladies like to join us? All the other tenants will be there.”
    The three of us glanced at each other and then nodded in unison. “That would be wonderful,” I said with a grin.
    Carl’s face brightened when he smiled. “Great. We’re gathering at Charlie Franklin’s place at seven o’clock. He offered his place because it’s the most spacious shop in the row. I’ll tell him you’re attending. See you later.”
    Near opening time, Seanmhair and I made trips to and from the kitchen to load baskets, stack shelves, and fill glass cases with breads. I restocked brown paper bags with our shop logo on the front while Sean added funds to the register. Many of our older customers still used cash, while the younger generation used debit and credit cards for purchases. Sean, more so than I, had become adept at handling all types of purchase transactions.
    I unlocked the front door and opened it for Mr. Streuder, who was always the first customer each morning. I smiled and bid him enter.
    “Good morning, Mr. Streuder, good to see you,” I said warmly. The old gent made his way to the counter and ordered his usual two rolls, a few breadsticks that caught his eye, and a small boule bowl loaf of bread that he said he’d fill with soup for his supper. Seanmhair thanked him for his