Murder, Plain and Simple Read Free

then, and the man who was is long dead.”
    “Are you saying that I don’t own Running Stitch?”
    “No, no, I’m not saying that. I’m certain Eleanor owned the shop. We just have to find the deed to prove it.”
    Hadn’t he just told me he looked everywhere for it?
    “In the meantime, I recommend that you stay away from Joseph Walker. You don’t want to say or do anything that might hurt our case.”
    “Our case?”
    He nodded. “If we can’t find the deed, we might have to go to court over this.”
    I felt dizzy. At that moment, moving to Ohio seemed like the worst idea I’d ever had.
    • • •
    Joseph Walker scowled at me each morning as I unlocked the door to Running Stitch. I know Harvey warned me against talking to Joseph while the property was in dispute, but his glares were getting old.
    Today was no different. I held the car door open, letting Oliver hop out, and slammed the car door after him. I snapped the leash onto Oliver’s collar. Joseph watched our every move.
    “This is ridiculous,” I muttered to Oliver.
    The dog snuffled in agreement.
    I stepped on the sidewalk and gave him my best Texas pageant girl smile. When we moved to Texas, my mother suddenly discovered she was a Southern belle trapped in a Yankee’s body and embraced everything she could of Southern living, including picking up a Southern drawl in her forties and, much to my horror, signing me up for Little Miss pageants across the Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex.
    My dazzling smile had not worked on the judges, nor did they work on Joseph Walker. His glare cut into me. I took a few steps toward Joseph and was jerked back by Oliver, who had wrapped his leash around the leg of a park bench. His round brown eyes popped out of his head.
    “Come on, buddy, you’re making me look bad in front of our new neighbor.”
    “You should have more control over your animal.” Joseph’s voice was hoarse from lack of use.
    I turned to face him, and he glowered at us.
    I cleared my throat. “My name is . . .”
    “I know who you are.”
    I glowered back. Two could play at this game. “I know who you are too. You’re Joseph Walker. I heard you are the best woodworker in town.”
    His black felt hat dipped down, hiding his eyes. “A person should not boast, not even about another’s talents. Whoever told you that was in the wrong.”
    Oliver wiggled underneath the park bench.
    “Animals are for work. They aren’t pets.”
    Oliver whimpered as if he understood the woodworker’s words.
    “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I gritted my teeth. Like me, like my dog. Don’t like my dog, I don’t like you. “I know there’s been a little confusion over my aunt’s shop.”
    His eyes narrowed into slits. “There is no confusion. I own the property.”
    My eye twitched. “The shop belonged to my aunt, and now it belongs to me.”
    “You have the deed?”
    I licked my lips. “I’ll find it.”
    “Hello?” A breathy voice broke into our conversation. I turned to find a woman with close-cropped silver hair. She stepped onto the walk and a man came out of the shop behind her. He appeared about ten years younger than the woman, maybe forty. His hair was slicked back in
Grease
style. Someone should have told him that hairstyle went the way of poodle skirts and monogrammed sweaters decades ago. He didn’t wave at us but followed the woman across the street.
    A purple crystal hanging from the woman’s neck caught the sunlight and sparkled. They made an odd couple: one a 1950s throwback and the other a New Age princess.
    I snuck a glance at Joseph. His lip curled as if he’d drunk sour milk.
    “Angela Braddock! I’m so pleased to finally meet you.” The woman wrapped her arms around me. Her puffy blouse ballooned into my face until she pulled away. “I told Farley that we need to get over to the Running Stitch and introduce ourselves.”
    “Nice to meet you . . .” I let the words hang in the air. Should I know who this woman was? She