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

a Margaret Thatcher lookalike shows up at an American place of business, especially now that Margaret Thatcher is dead. Having Clarice around is a kind of guilty blessing because she takes the attention off me. I dumped our groceries on the counter.
    I dug through my purse and pulled out my wallet while the woman rang up the items by punching keys — no barcode scanner here. I flipped through my credit card selection, trying to decide which one to use. I carried a couple company cards and one foundation-issued card,  but I still had my personal Bank of America Visa which I slapped on the glass-topped counter over the slide-out tray of scratch-off tickets.
    The woman looked distinctly uncomfortable. The corner of her mouth twitched. “We don’t take plastic. Just cash. Or a check if it’s not out of state.”
    “Oh.” I darted a glance at Clarice who was also shocked into open-mouthed silence — a rare occurrence.
    We both dove back into our purses hunting for the green stuff. We came up with a few crumpled bills but nowhere near enough.
    “Looks like you’re buying necessities,” the woman said.
    “Up the road about twenty minutes.” I pointed, as if that was helpful. “Walt — um, Walt Neftali works there, and there’s a boys’ camp.”
    “Oh, you’re staying at the poor farm. Hope they came through the storm last night okay. I’ll start an account for you. Name?”
    I provided the details and signed her form. “When do I pay?” I stretched to the side and snagged a few packages of cookies off a nearby display. I shoved them into the grocery lineup still waiting to be tallied, pretending I didn’t see Clarice’s scowl.
    “End of the month, or thereabouts. I’m Etherea Titus, by the way. Own this place with my husband, Bob. Pleased to meetcha.” She wrote our total on the account form and shoved four bulging paper sacks across the counter.
    Back in the car, it took me a few minutes of flying trees and dashed yellow line whizzing under the fender so fast it appeared solid to gather my thoughts. “Do you want to talk about this?”
    “No.” Clarice polished off the last of a banana and stuffed the peel in the cup holder in the Subaru’s console.
    “My husband of short duration is missing. He may or may not be alive. He may or may not be on the FBI’s most wanted list. I’m waiting for a phone call demanding ransom. My current residence is a poor farm.” I ticked each problem on my fingers. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll have the right to stay there — and then what? I may or may not have access to any money. I hope Etherea isn’t disappointed at the end of the month, but I’d pay my last penny just to get some answers.” I bit my lip at the reemergence of a thought that had been nagging me, and I turned toward Clarice. “What if I’m under suspicion too?”
    Clarice tore open a Clif bar while steering with her knee. “You’re right. It can’t possibly get worse. But you’ve got me. That counts on the plus side.” She swerved back into the right lane and stuffed the end of the energy bar in her mouth.
    From the depths of my purse, my phone rang. Heartbeat in overdrive, I bent in half and rummaged until I snagged the phone.
    I groaned when I saw the caller ID. “My mother.”
    “What?” Clarice screeched. “For all she knows you’re still on your honeymoon. You didn’t call her, did you?” She grabbed the phone and tossed it over her shoulder into the backseat. “You have enough problems.”
    “What if it’s about Dad?” I stretched my arm between the seats.
    “Stop.” Clarice smacked my leg. “Listen to the message later. Then decide if you should call her back.”
    I sighed. She was right. Describing my mother as high-maintenance would be a compliment compared to some of the other things I could say. And if Dad had had another episode, it was too late already.
    “The way I see it — on all those points you listed — we’re waiting. I don’t know what you