Blueberry Blues Read Free

source.”
    I sighed and bit into a muffin. The bright lemony flavor wasn’t enough to stave off the sinking feeling that had been haunting me all morning. I had stayed up half the night baking those pies – and as it turned out, they all had to be thrown away. Except for the ones the lab took for testing, of course. A copy of today’s Daily Mail sat on the edge of the counter. I’d gotten publicity all right. Just not the kind I wanted.
    But why?” I asked. “Why on earth would you want to poison half the island at a clambake?”
    "Well, I heard Mabel was a bit sore that she wasn’t in charge this year.”
    "Mabel Penney?”
    Charlene nodded. “She’s run it for the last several years, and got her nose out of joint when they told her you were going to be handling it.”
    "I had no idea,” I said. “Still, is that really a motive for poisoning pies?”
    "You never know,” she said. “On the plus side, at least Andi got the front cover out of it. That means Gertrude might be on the way out.”
    "Andi is going to replace Gertrude Pickens?”
    "They’ve been threatening to demote her to the obituary pages,” Charlene said. “Making room for fresh blood, so to speak.”
    "I thought Gertrude was their crack reporter?”
    Charlene finished off her muffin and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “Not anymore,” she said. “Apparently Andi's been moving up in the ranks.”
    "At least she hasn't said I was responsible for murder,” I said. Gertrude had written a series of stories insinuating that I had murdered one of my guests recently, and I wasn’t sure she’d gotten over the disappointment of being wrong.
    Charlene glanced at the front page of the paper, which featured a blown-up image of the inn, complete with several policemen. “Only food poisoning. At least so far.”
    "Not comforting,” I said.
    Not at all.
    ***
    A half hour later, I stepped out of the store into a beautiful early summer afternoon. A cool breeze riffled my hair, smelling of the roses that lined the front of the shop and tinged with the briny scent of the sea.
    As climbed onto my Schwinn, I reflected that it was a good thing I rode my bike so darned much. Weight gain is an occupational hazard of innkeeping; with all of those delicious goodies at arm’s reach, how could it not be?
    I debated going back to the inn, but decided instead to point the bike toward Mabel Penney’s house. Not that I was expecting her to admit poisoning my blueberry pies. In fact, I’m not sure what I was planning to do. But it was better than doing nothing – and besides, after eating three muffins, I could use the exercise.
    Mabel’s house was one of the pretty shingle-style houses that dotted the water’s edge on the south side of the island, and my legs were feeling the burn by the time I pulled up to the driveway. I knew she rented it out for a few weeks in the summer and went to stay with her sister, and I could imagine she made a nice bit of extra money doing so. A screened porch wrapped around the little house, and the lupine-studded meadow below it sloped down to a rocky beach.
    I parked my bike and walked down the path to the white-painted front door. Two pots filled with bright red geraniums flanked it, and wind chimes tinkled in the breeze. All in all, the little gray house looked like the on-site location for an L.L. Bean photo shoot.
    I knocked at the door and tried to figure out what I was going to say. I didn’t have long; a moment later the door opened, and Mabel’s wizened face peered around it.
    "Can I help you?” she said, sounding less than friendly.
    "Hi,” I said. “I’m sorry to drop in like this, but I was wondering if we could talk for a little bit?”
    She pressed her thin lips together, then opened the door wider to admit me. “I suppose. I’ve only got a few minutes, though.”
    I followed her into the house, which smelled of lavender and the ever-present tang of the sea. The white curtains billowed in the breeze as she led