The Hen of the Baskervilles by Donna Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

better than his. Let me talk to Mother.”
    She looked puzzled.
    â€œI didn’t know your mother was a lawyer,” she said. “Does she handle divorces?”
    â€œShe handles her family,” I said. “She’s not a lawyer, but we must have several dozen in the family. And most of them are very, very good at what they do, and I’m sure a few of them do divorce. I will explain to Mother that if she wants to continue serving your cheeses at her parties, she will need to find you a lawyer who can take on Brett’s lawyer. And do it on terms you can afford.”
    â€œDo you really think she can find someone?” Her hand was trembling, and I was relieved to see her put down the cheese knife.
    â€œYou’ve met Mother,” I said. “You know what she’s like when she takes on a project. So brace yourself. You’re about to become a project.”
    Molly’s smile was finally starting to look genuine.
    â€œThanks,” she said. “You have no idea how great that would be.”
    â€œI’ve got to run.” I tucked my notebook back into my pocket. “How about if you put my order together—and yes, double it, not because I think you’re going out of business but because just looking at your booth makes me realize I was being way too conservative when I made my list. I’ll drop back later to pick it up and give you a check. And I can let you know what Mother says.”
    She nodded, and I could see that above the smile she was blinking rapidly. Fighting back tears. If we’d been alone, I’d have hugged her, but that would probably make the tears spill over, and I knew here in the crowded vendor hall she’d want to hold it together.
    â€œLater,” I said, and headed for the exit. I felt curiously more cheerful after learning about Molly’s problem, perhaps because unlike the thefts and vandalism, I felt I knew exactly what to do to solve it.
    If only all the day’s problems would be this easy.

 
    Chapter 7
    Outside, I hurried over to the gate and supervised the opening. I was relieved to see that in spite of the overcast weather, a decent number of people were lined up outside, impatiently waiting to buy their tickets for this first day of the Un-fair. Yesterday’s weather had been abysmal, mainly because the remnants of a passing hurricane had dumped three inches of water on us. If I weren’t involved in the fair, I might have waited out today’s chance of thunderstorms, but here were several hundred people eager to come to the fair. Not bad at all for a Thursday, with only a few competitions scheduled and the Midway, with its rides and games, not opening for two more hours.
    But just as the gates opened, I found myself wondering if one of those smiling, eager faces belonged to a chicken thief. A pumpkin smasher. A despoiler of exquisite quilts. I stopped myself from scowling—no sense scaring off the paying customers—but I found myself studying the people as they began to trickle in.
    The family groups were probably harmless. No petty criminal worth his salt would encumber himself with toddlers already demanding hot dogs and cotton candy, boys begging to be taken on the rides, or girls pleading to go see the horses. But I had to work harder at not frowning when I spotted men, alone or in pairs.
    They could have any number of innocent reasons for coming, I reminded myself. They could be farmers, looking to buy or sell livestock or just check out the competition. They could be coming to see the latest tractors and combines on display. They could be craving barbecue or fried chicken or any of the dozens of foodstuffs on sale throughout the fair. They could be here for the entertainment, which ranged from our minor Nashville luminary to Rancid Dread, an inexplicably popular local heavy metal band.
    They could even be spies for one of the other counties or private groups trying to field their own entries