Cancelled by Murder Read Online Free PDF

waiting for an answer.
    All I could do was climb into bed, fully clothed, and hope for sleep.
    *   *   *
    I woke on Tuesday morning with none of the restful feeling that should start a day. Not wanting to wake Quinn, I texted him sad news. call when u r up and got ready for work. Not that he knew Daisy as well as I did, but I needed to share my grief with someone other than the chief of police.
    Thanks to an efficient town government and committed business owners, there were hardly any signs of storm debris along my commute path only one day later. Even faster than a twenty-four-hour flu bug, the storm had come and gone. I sent a silent thank-you to the men and women in orange vests who’d worked through the night to clear the way for business as usual.
    All the more striking, then, was the yellow-and-black CAUTION tape strung in front of Daisy’s Fabrics. The cheerful yellow-and-white CLOSED sign quilted by Daisy herselfstill hung on the door and made a mockery of the last twenty-four hours.
    I thought of security guard Cliff Harmon, Daisy’s husband, and how awful it must have been for him to be notified of her death. I wanted to call and offer my sympathy but decided to wait until the final ME report was in. I wasn’t sure whether Cliff had been made aware of the suspicious nature of Daisy’s death; glad I didn’t have Sunni’s job making decisions like that.
    I wondered what Cliff had been doing at the time he learned of his wife’s death. Listening to a boring lecture on advances in surveillance techniques? Engaged in a high-impact practice drill? Enjoying a relaxing break in his hotel room?
    I knew too well how life could change in a moment, with one phone call. Like the one I received while I was at my best friend Crystal’s surprise sixteenth birthday party. My surprise trumped hers when a call came from Aunt Tess, tearfully informing me that there had been a car accident, a very bad accident. I remembered everything from that one still frame of my life—the taste of coconut from Crystal’s favorite German chocolate cake; the striped sweater vest my mother had helped me knit and wrap for my friend; a crowd of teenagers’ bodies moving to the music of the Macarena; how the sunflower clip I wore in my long, thick hair fell to the floor as I pushed the phone against my head in anguish. It seemed a lifetime ago. Or one minute ago.
    As with Cliff Harmon, I’d had no warning, no chance for one more “Good-bye” or a final, tender “I love you.”
    I thought, Poor Cliff, and poor everyone who suffered great loss.
    *   *   *
    The mood at the post office on Tuesday morning was a strange mixture, hushed sadness over what was still thought to be Daisy’s accidental death, and overreaction to the relatively minor wreckage the storm had left in its wake.
    Sunni had sworn me to secrecy about the ruling that our friend had been murdered. She needed an official written report from ME Barry before the verdict could be made public.
    â€œI’m glad you were there,” she said in a message left on my voice mail this morning. “And I also wish you weren’t.”
    I got her meaning and wanted to assure her she could trust me not to enter the gossip fray. She knew me well enough to trust that. If there was one thing a postal worker understood, it was the importance of confidentiality.
    Everyone in the post office lobby today had a storm story to tell. I had a strong suspicion that some citizens had whipped up letters and packages for the sole purpose of coming into town and meeting their friends. You never knew what might help or hurt a particular business day. The North Ashcot Post Office had a lot going for it—it was larger than the coffee shop and cooler than the park behind the school, now baking again in the August sun, as if there hadn’t been a big departure from the weather norm only yesterday. Another