Candy Cane Murder by Joanne Fluke & Leslie Meier & Laura Levine

Author:Joanne Fluke & Leslie Meier & Laura Levine [Fluke, Joanne & Meier, Leslie & Levine, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Food And Drink - Cooking, Mystery - Crime, Humour, Mystery - Cozy Mystery, Anthologies, Adult, Food And Drink - Food
ISBN: 9780758221988
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2007-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

I woke up the next morning, still recuperating from my encounter with Angel Cavanaugh (or, as I was now calling

her, Rosemary’s Other Baby).

I’d staggered home from our date, damp and shivering,

and spent the next hour or so soaking in the tub, Prozac gazing down at me from her perch on the toilet tank.

I told you you should’ve stayed home and scratched my

back.

I’d whiled away the rest of the day mindlessly watching

sitcom reruns, getting up only to run out for some Chinese

takeout. Okay, so I ran out for some Ben & Jerry’s, too—to

reward myself for surviving a whole hour and forty-six and a

half minutes (but who’s counting?) with Angel.

Now, after a restless night dreaming I was being chased

down the Santa Monica Pier by a giant nacho, I lay in bed,

gazing up at the ceiling. I thought about bailing out on L.A.

Girlfriends and leaving Angel to another mentor, preferably

one who’d spent some time as a prison warden.

But then I remembered how vulnerable she’d looked gasping at her inhaler, and I knew I had to give her another chance.

Somehow, I vowed, prying myself out of bed, I had to make

our relationship work.

I’d just sloshed some Hearty Halibut Guts into a bowl for

Prozac and was standing at the kitchen counter, breakfasting

on a cold egg roll, when the phone rang.

Seymour Fiedler came on the line, sounding light years

more cheerful than the last time we’d spoken.

“Good news, Jaine. I just talked with my lawyer, and I

may be off the hook for Garth Janken’s death.”

“That’s great, Seymour.”

“Now the cops think it was premeditated murder. In fact,

they just brought somebody in for questioning. A guy named

Willard Cox. Apparently they found some incriminating evidence linking him to Garth’s death.”

“What evidence?”

“I have no idea. All I know is they’re questioning him.”

“Do you want me to continue my investigation?”

“You may as well. Just in case they change their minds.”

I hung up with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Some of it was probably indigestion from that egg roll. But

mainly, I was concerned about Willard. Something in my gut

told me he was innocent.

I know he hated Garth, but there’s a big difference between wishing somebody were no longer around to bother

you, and actually trying to kill him. Besides, if Willard were

really the killer, would he have been so openly vitriolic about

Garth?

No, my gut was telling me that the cops had brought in the

wrong suspect for questioning.

But what, I wondered, was the incriminating evidence

they’d found?

I decided to pay a little visit to Ethel Cox and find out.

I made my way past the frolicking reindeer on the Coxes’s

front lawn and rang the bell.

Ethel came to the door, still in her nightgown. A far cry

from the happy hausfrau I’d met the other day, her gray curls

had lost their bounce and her once rosy cheeks were drained

of color.

“Ethel,” I asked, in what had to be one of the Top Ten

World’s Most Rhetorical Questions, “are you okay?”

“Willard’s gone!” she cried, her eyes wide with fear. “The

police took him away for questioning!”

“Try not to worry, Ethel.

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