Banana Muffins & Mayhem Read Online Free PDF

have any ideas on who would've killed her or why? Since you were on the Cabin Fever Cure planning committee, did you hear about anybody getting angry with her?"
    "Everybody was frustrated. A lot of time and money went into planning the event. There were many disappointed people when she didn't turn out to be anything like the way she was on her show. I can't say anybody stood out as being more upset than anyone else though."
    Carla was heading home for a much needed visit to Snooze Land, but Amy was wide awake, even though she too had gotten little sleep topped off with a long walk. When she left The Inkwell, Amy headed straight for her home away from home, Riverbend Café. While she had cut down on the amount of time she worked at the café or its second location at Clement Street Market, she still spent quite a bit of time just hanging out at the coffee shop. The space was cozy and seemed to be steeped in creativity. She often joined the students and writers who were also drawn to the café to write her blog posts or brainstorm new recipes.
    Amy pulled open Riverbend's door and inhaled. The rich coffee aroma had an undercurrent of cinnamon and vanilla. She guessed there was a batch of cinnamon muffins or oatmeal cookies in one of the ovens. Since Sophie wasn't behind the counter when Amy's order was being prepared, she took her pistachio latte and raisin bar to a small table next to the window. Weak sunshine filtering through the thin layer of clouds warmed her as she watched the Cooley River flowing by outside. Unfortunately, the subject matter she was pondering made the day seem downright gloomy instead of the reality of partly cloudy. It had been unsettling to see Aubergine so upset over something that was beyond her control, although Amy could definitely see herself following that train of thought if she were in the artist's shoes. The "you break it, you buy it" retail policy carried over into owning misplaced guilt.
    Amy rummaged through her purse looking for a notebook. Over the years, she had learned that writing down her thoughts was helpful in preventing mental overloads and the often resulting headaches. She glanced at the customer standing in front of the order counter and froze. The woman with the dark chin-length bob haircut looked familiar, but why? Amy returned to her purse search because staring was impolite. And she didn't want to be caught gawking at a person who could be a friend or foe—a determination that would be left up in the air until her memory decided to play nice. The petite notebook finally revealed itself at the very bottom of her deep bucket-style purse. The butter-yellow leather bag held all of her many necessities, but its shape led to frustrating searches for items she knew were in it—somewhere.
    She set the purse on the unoccupied chair across from her then took a sip of the warm, nutty latte. The coffee was a miraculous recognition accelerant. The vaguely familiar, geek chic woman at the counter—sporting black-rimmed glasses, chunky Mary Jane shoes, and a blue plaid schoolgirl skirt—had been hanging out with Phoebe on Saturday. She had been nearby whenever Amy had encountered the star. Maybe she was part of the entourage Sophie had mentioned coming into the café on Sunday. Amy flipped open the notebook but watched the woman out of the corner of her eye as she crossed the room and took a seat at the next table.
    Of all the empty chairs in the room, the woman ended up at the next table. It was a sign. There was no glory in being timid, especially when karma was being pushy. Amy waved to catch her attention. "I'm sorry to bother you, but you look so familiar. Didn't I see you chatting with Phoebe Plymouth a couple times at the Cabin Fever Cure?"
    The woman set down her phone. The light from the window reflected on her eyeglass lenses, making her expression hard to interpret. She could be disinterested or annoyed. "I am Old House/New Style's production assistant, but Phoebe treated me