Blackberry Crumble Read Free

steps.
     
    There were only a few yards between them, and Sadie finished assessing the woman as quickly as she could. Shoulder-length, wavy, strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears, no bangs. Blue-gray eyes and a fair complexion with a smattering of freckles made her look younger than what Sadie believed to be her thirty-something years. Her makeup was minimal, and she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The woman’s jeans fit her widish hips well, and the purple tank top, while not quite the right color for her hair, went quite well with her figure, which, while full, was shapely. The woman was of average height, maybe an inch shorter than Sadie’s five foot six inches. Her purse was a large, ornate, white leather number which, if Sadie wasn’t mistaken, was rather high-end—making it look out of place on a woman who didn’t seem particularly polished. Perhaps it had been a gift?
     
    “Hi,” Sadie said with a smile as soon as the woman came to a stop on the opposite side of the table. She put out her hand. “I’m Sadie Hoffmiller. I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you part of the Latham Club?”
     
    “No,” the woman said. She took Sadie’s hand, gave it a single firm shake, and dropped it before unconsciously wiping her hand on her jeans. She was nervous. “I came to talk to you.”
     
    “Me?” Sadie said, surprised. Granted, her name was on all the posters and fliers advertising the luncheon, but the urgency in the other woman’s voice and intent of her words didn’t seem to have much to do with that.
     
    “A neighbor of yours said you’d be here,” she said as she took a cursory glance at the three-dimensional, crepe-paper watermelon slices and real beach balls dangling from the gymnasium’s ceiling. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
     
    “O-kay,” Sadie said carefully. “What can I help you with?”
     
    “I’d like to hire you,” the woman said as her eyes snapped back to Sadie.
     
    “Hire me?” Sadie repeated. “For what?” She looked down at the cookies. “Catering?” Sadie enjoyed helping with the food for community events, but cookies and cakes didn’t seem to fit the intent of this woman. Who needed emergency catering?
     
    “Investigation stuff,” the woman said, leaning toward her and lowering her voice as though fearful she’d be overheard.
     
    Sadie couldn’t deny feeling flattered, but her attention was drawn to the newspaper in the woman’s hand. It was an obvious explanation. The woman must have stumbled onto an article about one of the unfortunate incidents Sadie had been involved in. Some of the situations she’d found herself in made Sadie sound rather heroic, but there hadn’t been anything written for weeks, and most of the mentions Sadie had cut out of the paper had been short and tucked between public notices and ninetieth-birthday announcements in small papers.
     
    “I’m not an investigator. I just have really bad luck.” She smiled at her own joke.
     
    The woman shook her head. “You’re exactly what I need,” she said. “Someone obscure, who can help me make sense of things.”
     
    Sadie wasn’t so sure that being called obscure was complimentary. “I don’t understand what you’re asking,” she said. “I’m not . . . for hire.” Though wouldn’t it be cool if she were? She remembered that wave of envy she’d shrugged off a few minutes earlier in regard to Pete’s badge and her own fantasies about private investigation work. Then she imagined how Pete would react if he were listening to this. He’d probably find it funny, which would make Sadie feel defensive.
     
    “I can pay whatever it takes to make this worth your time,” the woman said, keeping her eyes trained on Sadie. She was beginning to sound a little desperate. “Twice that, if I need to.”
     
    “But I’m not an investigator,” Sadie explained again. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it was likely overstated and—”
     
    The woman