A Fatal Twist of Lemon Read Free Page B

me some tea?” His face revealed nothing, but I heard the disdain in his voice.
    Two could play at that game. I gazed at him innocently. “Would you prefer tea?”
    He held my gaze for a moment, and a sudden smile quirked up his mouth. To my surprise, this time it reached his eyes.
    â€œNah. Coffee’s fine.”
    â€œCream and sugar?”
    â€œBlack.”
    I nodded politely and started to go out. He called after me.
    â€œOh, hey, would you send up, ah—Claudia Pearson?”
    He stood behind my desk, hunched a little beneath the sloping ceiling, notepad in hand, looking altogether out of place in his motorcycle gear amid my Victorian decor. Suddenly he was the one who seemed awkward.
    â€œAll right,” I said, and left, relieved to be done with the interview.
    I walked to the head of the stairs and stopped, heart pounding.
    There was a dead body below. I did not want to return to face the upheaval.
    I glanced toward my office, feeling an urge to ask the detective to escort me down, but that was foolish. I gave my head a brief shake and straightened my shoulders.
    Cops drink coffee .
    He wasn’t part of my world, wouldn’t understand my world. No doubt he wouldn’t know what to do with a bone china cup and saucer. I was on my own. As usual.
    I took a deep breath and went downstairs.
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    A s it happened, I didn’t see Detective Aragón again for hours. One by one he summoned everyone upstairs to be interviewed, then set them free. I sent the staff home as they were released, it being obvious that we would not be allowed to clean up the dining parlor for some time.
    â€œI can stay, boss,” Julio said, pulling off his chef’s coat after he came down from being interviewed. He hung the coat on a hook by the door and went to the counter, looking lean in a muscle shirt and his festive chef’s pants. I stared at a tattoo design circling his upper arm—I hadn’t seen it before. It was high enough to be hidden by a t-shirt sleeve, and t-shirts were what he’d usually worn until that morning.
    â€œNo, go home,” I told him. “You need to be here early to bake.”
    He started measuring beans into the grinder for yet another pot of coffee. “We gonna open tomorrow?”
    â€œOf course we are.”
    If we didn’t, we might never open again. We had to weather this. It would be all right. If I kept telling myself that, maybe I’d believe it.
    I watched him, looking for a sign of rebellion. If Julio quit, I’d be in big trouble. He didn’t say anything, just kept working.
    A loud rapping at the front door made me step into the hall. The front door was closed at last; apparently all the cops who could fit into the dining parlor were already in there.
    Bright, white light shone in through the small windows called “lights” that surrounded the door, along with occasional flashes from the emergency vehicles still parked out front. It looked like there were camera crews out on the sidewalk beyond the picket fence. I hoped they wouldn’t come any closer.
    I walked to the door, my steps echoing from the hardwood floor. Peeking out through the lights, I recognized the giant poppies on the dress outside, and pulled the door open.
    â€œGina!”
    She caught me in a tight hug. I almost lost it right then, but I managed to step back, pulling her in with me.
    â€œThanks for coming back.”
    She grinned, cheeks dimpling deeply. “You kidding? I love circuses. Where’s your TV? I bet this makes the ten o’clock news.”
    I closed my eyes. “I don’t want to know.”
    â€œYes, you do, it’s important!”
    I sighed, starting toward the kitchen. “It’s in storage. Have you eaten?”
    I had rented a storage shed for some of my parents’ furniture that wasn’t suited to the tearoom but that I couldn’t bear to part with. The television had gone