Cold Moon Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

troopers run it,” Marcus said. He turned to start a pot of coffee. “So Banger thinks there’s a shop in her district?” He glanced over with a raised brow. “Why haven’t they shut it down?”
    “I have no idea. Maybe the department doesn’t have probable cause for a search warrant.” I shrugged. “She didn’t say.”
    While the coffee perked, Marcus rummaged through the refrigerator for a snack. He came up with a piece of leftover apple pie—courtesy of my mother—and some sad looking cheese. I watched as he inhaled the food and gulped down a steaming cup of brew. He grabbed his stiff brimmed trooper hat off the counter and kissed me before he left with a promise he’d check in later.
    What he meant by that could be anything from a toss in the sheets to a phone call, so I didn’t press him. It depended on what crimes were committed while he was on duty. Rhode Island State Troopers work four twelve-hour days in a row and usually pick up extra ‘detail’ hours on their days off. They start at weird times and end the same way. If you’re undercover, that’s another schedule altogether.
    I didn’t question him about his job since he was tight-lipped about it. Instead, I used our time together for better, and far more interesting, things.
    Daylight waned as the sun dipped toward the horizon. It wasn’t late, simply winter. I figured it was time to visit Livvy’s grave and discuss the day with her. Then I’d stroll to the corner for dinner.
    Groceries were slim at my house, more often than not. I rarely bought much since I didn’t cook much. My mother sent home goody bags of leftovers for me or I grabbed a meal from the deli. Once in a while, I shopped at the market.
    Not that I couldn’t cook—my dad had made sure I could. He’d taught Lola and me how. He’d been a chef in his heyday, owned a pizza restaurant before he retired, and whatever he chose to cook was a delight for the taste buds. Lola had picked up Dad’s culinary talents far better than me, even though I was a darned good cook when I chose to be.
    With a cloche pulled down over my ears, the wool jacket buttoned all the way up, and my hands gloved, I marched quickly across the street to get my mail from the post office. I tucked it securely into my pocket, and headed down the side street toward the cemetery. The cold wind and fresh air chilled my face.
    Within minutes I stood in front of Livvy’s grave, explaining my problems in a soft voice. Harsh winds whipped the words away as I spoke them, carrying them to who knows where. I paced to and fro. As I did, my anxiety decreased. I realized Livvy would not only have understood, but she would not have yelled at me for my actions. She always did have a spare-the-rod attitude where I was concerned. I smoothed dead, crumpled leaves from the grave, and said goodbye then sauntered up the hill toward the street.
    At the corner, I waited for the traffic light to change before I crossed over. As I hurried across the street and up the deli steps, the blare of a horn caught my attention. I turned to see Aaron’s black SUV stopped in the line of traffic. There was no way I wanted another lecture over the inept handling of my car theft. I hoped he wouldn’t stop in to give me one. With a wave of a hand, I hurried inside the deli, out of the cold.
    Mouth-watering aromas greeted my nostrils. Basil, peppers, tomato sauce, garlic and oregano were among the scents. I shrugged off my jacket, gloves, and hat. Millie, the counter helper, slid a hot beverage across the counter and motioned toward the kitchen with her head. Thankful for a hot brew, I sipped the Earl Grey tea.
    “Lola’s in the back cleaning up. She has a date tonight, so I’m holding the fort while she’s gone. It’s only an hour or so to closing, but I’ll be fine.”
    The extra information hadn’t been necessary, but Millie had been an abused spouse when I first met her. She’d changed a lot, but it had taken some time to build up her