Demise in Denim Read Online Free PDF Page A

to a TV in the corner, as everyone in the shop nodded in agreement. “We all heard what you said. You want Boone behind bars!” A bear claw filled with vanilla custard went splat across my chest.
    â€œYou got this all wrong. I can explain.”
    â€œWe heard what we heard,” GracieAnn added, and the ticked-off looks on the other customers’ faces suggested that if I didn’t leave on my own they’d help me along.
    I leaned across the counter and hooked my finger at GracieAnn to do the same. “I just said what I did to get Boone’s enemies to talk to me so I can find the real killer,” I whispered, our noses inches apart.
    GracieAnn’s eyes got beady. “You’d say anything for a doughnut.”
    â€œOkay, I can’t argue that, but I’m not lying.” I did the cross-over-my-heart routine.
    â€œHit the bricks.”
    â€œNot even one glazed to see me on my way?”
    â€œOut!” GracieAnn’s breath smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. I inhaled the scent of secondhand doughnut as GracieAnn glared at Auntie KiKi. “And what about you?”
    KiKi studied the full display case and smacked her lips. BW fused himself to her leg and KiKi pointed to me. “I never saw that woman in my life and neither did this dog and that’s our story and we’re sticking to it and we’ll take two crullers, four sprinkles, and a coffee and a water to go, thank you very much.”
    When it came to doughnuts and family loyalty, doughnutswon every time. Picking chunks of bear claw off my shirt, I plopped them into my mouth and headed for the door. I sat at one of the shaded little white tables on the sidewalk and waited for KiKi to come out. One of those sprinkle doughnuts she ordered better have my name on it.
    â€œLord have mercy, girl, what do you think you’re doing?” Mercedes said as she hustled up to the table and wedged herself into the tiny wrought-iron chair across from me. Mercedes was housekeeper extraordinaire by day and mortician beautician by night, meaning not much happened in this city without her getting wind of it. She drove a pink Caddy and dressed right out of Nordstrom’s catalog. Sprucing things up living or dead paid a heck of a lot better than running a consignment shop.
    â€œHoney,” she said to me. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, and if you are you need to be touching up your roots for when they find your sorry carcass. What’s it going to be? Blonde? Brunette? Make a choice, ’cause right now you look skunk and you need better clothes. You run a nice consignment shop, for Pete’s sake.”
    â€œI can’t afford my consignment shop.”
    â€œI declare, girl, how do you keep getting into these messes?”
    â€œSo are we talking about that fire out at the lumberyard a few months ago, or when that house exploded and I sort of lost my eyebrows, or when I drove into the marsh with the alligators, or—”
    â€œI’m talking about today, this very morning. You were on the news, big as you please. That’s how I knew you were here having doughnuts at the Cakery Bakery . . . where else would you go at this hour?”
    â€œSo, besides the roots and nightshirt, did I look all that bad?”
    â€œYou looked like we should be measuring you for a coffin.” Mercedes let out a long-suffering sigh. “You know Mr. Boone has friends, mighty good friends like me, who won’t be taking kindly to that crack about wanting to put the man behind bars.”
    â€œI got a plan.”
    â€œWe’ll be sure to put that in your obituary.”
    â€œDetective Ross said I had to act like I was anti-Boone so the suspects wouldn’t clam up when I started snooping around. If they suspected I was out to find the real killer I’d get nowhere fast.”
    â€œDid you ever stop to consider the little fact that you’re not going to get any help from the