Bait & Switch (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

with me for another hundred miles?” she growled.
    We pushed through a glass door into a cramped, dim space. I bumped a display of Corn Nuts and Skoal chewing tobacco. Together — in one display. I was stuck for a second wrapping my head around that marketing concept.
    Clarice grabbed my arm and propelled me past the chips, jerky, infant formula and canned goods to the bank of buzzing coolers in the back. She pulled my forearms into a platform and loaded me up with eggs, half and half, frozen concentrated orange juice and Canadian bacon. For such a small store, they had an amazing selection.
    Clarice darted down an aisle and returned with a jar of instant coffee.
    “But—”
    “It’ll do for now. We should have checked the cupboards before we left. Any idea if there’s a coffee maker? Frying pan?”
    I shook my head dumbly.
    “Toilet paper,” Clarice muttered and disappeared again.
    I stood patiently while my personal shopper scoped out the store, ticking through her be-ready-for-any-emergency mental checklist. I slowly rotated, taking in the hand lettered signs advertising specials with prices I hadn’t seen in San Francisco in years, the crates full of gigantic, fresh from the orchard, unwaxed and unstickered apples in the far corner, the fat calico cat that ambled out from behind the as yet unattended cashier’s counter. Who lived in a town like this? The floor squeaked under my weight as I shifted.
    A pair of sharp dark eyes — and a lean, swarthy man stepped out from behind an endcap display of Rainier beer. He stared straight at me, his smooth cheeks unflinching, taut body, shiny brass belt buckle the size of a salad plate, uplifted chin, perfect line of a black mustache. Mexican, he had to be.
    And suddenly I knew — they’d sent an emissary, someone to negotiate Skip’s release. Maybe someone who’d been there, on the beach, someone who knew.
    My arms went numb, the groceries weighing on them, and blood surged in my ears and throat. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
    The man’s gaze changed from frank appraisal to a concerned scowl, then he looked down — to a little girl in a pink tutu and Hello Kitty sweater tugging on his jeans. She held a bag of Skittles in her open palm with a wordless plea in her eyes. He smiled at her and nodded.
    The instant grin of delight on her face brought my breath back. I sagged against a cooler door. Just a father and his daughter. Just doing what I was doing — grocery shopping. I panted like a marathon runner.
    “Miss?” He was at my elbow.
    “I’m okay,” I whispered.
    He held my gaze long enough to let me know he didn’t believe me. Then he grasped his little girl’s hand and led her to the counter.
    “What was that about?” Clarice layered a couple more items on me.
    “Felt like a panic attack. Which I’ve never had before. For a second I thought — I thought he might know about Skip — might be able to tell me—” I inhaled shakily.
    “Nonsense. We’re in the middle of nowhere, which is exactly why I picked this place. No way they could get here that fast. Besides, panic attacks are for sissies. Get angry. It’s easier and more productive.”  Clarice pushed me toward the checkout counter. “I know what I’m talking about.”
    The man and his daughter were gone. I’d heard a bell clank while Clarice was lecturing me and realized it was the signal attached to the front door in the form of a cluster of small cowbells dangling from the handle. A beat-up blue pickup eased out of the parking lot and through the intersection after a rolling stop. I just caught the top of the little girl’s head and a dash of pink tulle in the passenger seat.
    “Mornin’.” The flannel-clad woman behind the cash register nodded a greeting, then slanted a second look at Clarice.
    Due to my facial asymmetry, I’m accustomed to receiving short, awkwardly polite stares, but Clarice usually gets the full head swivel double take. I suppose it’s not every day