Deadly Row to Hoe Read Online Free PDF Page A

glass of white wine.
    He looked up when we came in. “Hey, you two. You ran out before I could say hello.”
    “You seemed kind of busy,” Erin said.
    He laughed and even Meghan smiled. She put her arm out in invitation to her daughter and raised her eyebrows.
    Erin hesitated, then moved into her embrace. “I’m still mad at you.”
    Her mother gave her a squeeze. “That’s okay. I’m still mad at you, too.”
    “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” I said, pouring a finger of Laphroaig into the bottom of a jelly jar and taking a sip. It wended its way down my throat, smoke and fire, and I sighed.
    Kelly leaned his elbow on the table and propped his chin on his palm. “Meghan told me they don’t know who the woman is.”
    The “woman.” Not the “dead woman.” I glanced at Erin. She’d stilled, willing herself invisible so we’d talk in front of her.
    “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.” I opened a kitchen drawer, removed a long-handled lighter and held it out to Kelly. “You’re practically family now. Why don’t you go start the grill?”

Five
    Opening all the basement windows to the evening, I breathed in the rapidly cooling air as the sun approached the horizon. This had been my workspace ever since I started Winding Road Bath Products with a simple line of homemade, cold-processed soap. After my first husband, Mike Reynolds, died, Meghan had invited me to come live with her in Cadyville. Only after she’d asked had I realized how much I needed companionship. Lord knew she was not only one of my favorite people in the world, but we had a history of living together in circumstances far less ideal than her Victorian-style house. We’d been roommates at the University of Washington for four years.
    So I’d quit my mid-level administrative position in the Lake Washington School District and moved thirty miles north, taking a job in a small bookstore. After Winding Road took off, I was able to quit and devote all of my time to my very own business. It was a lot of work, and always more of a risk than holding out my hand for a paycheck come Friday, but it was worth it. I loved being my own boss, working at home, and having flexibility in my schedule.
    Of course that meant long hours, especially in the early years. Now late nights had become rarer. Since Barr was still at the cop shop tonight, I’d planned to pack up the orders for UPS after dinner, but when I came downstairs I discovered that my uber-
efficient helpers, Cyan and Kalie, had already done most of the work. I finished up, set the boxes by the back door to put out in the morning, and considered what else I could accomplish that evening.
    It looked like some basic soap making was in order.
    I donned a long white apron and placed rubber gloves and a pair of dorky chemistry goggles on the central work island. The radio on the counter by the stove played Emmylou Harris at low volume as I measured oils into a large pot and set a low flame under them. Then I donned the gloves and goggles and weighed out a portion of sodium hydroxide crystals—good, old-fashioned lye. When I added water to the lye in the big bowl attached to the industrial bread mixer, it reacted by chemically heating the liquid. A drift of unpleasant-smelling steam curled up, and I backed to the stove to check the temperature of the oils. I opened a bottle of basil essential oil and inhaled the spicy licorice scent, wiping away all traces of the hot lye.
    While the oils had to heat up, the lye had to cool down. For the basic lavender-and-basil scented soap I was making this evening, I wanted the oils at 100° and the lye at 85° when I poured the oils into the mixer. There the beaters would combine them thoroughly, and the process of saponification would begin.
    “You look like a mad scientist.”
    I whirled to find Kelly standing at the bottom of the narrow staircase leading down from the kitchen.
    “Can I come in?”
    “Sure.” I waved him over and stripped off the