Flipped For Murder Read Online Free PDF

Indiana. Mom and I had taken her to the Wild Pelican, a high-end restaurant perched above an unspoiled beach outside Santa Barbara, its wall of windows showcasing the sparkling Pacific that stretched out all the way to Japan. My mom’s wavy blond hair was cut in a no-fuss short do and her blue eyes were brilliant in a face tanned from walking on the beach. I’d gotten my dark curly locks and Mediterranean skin tones from my long-disappeared father, but my body matched Mom’s. We’d often talked about how we came from good peasant stock.
    â€œYou would have loved this place,” I told her, taking a sip of bourbon, another taste we’d shared. My throat thickened, as it still did frequently, when I thought about her. She’d been my best friend. She’d taught me carpentry, giving me projects in high school to keep me busy and off the streets. Every summer she’d sent me out to stay with Adele for a month so I’d get to know my Midwestern roots. She’d fostered my love of puzzles of all kinds, and encouraged me to attend the engineering program at Cal Poly a hundred miles up the coast in San Luis Obispo. She’d even given me her blessing when I wanted to marry Will the day after I graduated, even though I could tell she didn’t like him much. I should have trusted her judgment over my own.
    â€œBut I have the feeling you’d think this was the right move. This store, this restaurant. Right?” I didn’t have much of a belief in the afterlife, but I hoped her essence was out there watching, listening, and giving me the thumbs-up with a great big old grin.

Chapter 5
    Boy, howdy. Six hours of sleep was not enough, no way. Sleep had come at last, but not before about one o’clock. Thoughts of murder weren’t exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep. Or morning’s, as the case may be.
    I rubbed my eyes and then pocketed the key to my small apartment at the back of the store. I didn’t want anybody wandering in there looking for the store restrooms, which were the next two doors to the right, even though I’d mounted a sign on my apartment door that read PRIVATE , just in case. The restrooms were clearly labeled, of course, with SHE ALL and HE ALL , the almost-too-silly suggestion of Phil. I’d let him paint those words because, so far, he’d demonstrated a pretty good design sense of what worked visually and what was just too country cute. I’d installed the restrooms and constructed them to AD A code, with doors wide enough for a wheelchair, levers on the sinks, grab bars, and more. The previous owner would have made do with an outhouse behind the store if he’d been able to. As it was, the single dingy bathroom had made you feel dirty before you even walked in.
    For now, though, I had breakfast to make. Since it was Sunday, I’d decided we didn’t have to open until eight. Two hours should be long enough to prep and get started cooking. Adele and Phil, who were the extent of my crew until I hired paid help, were coming in at seven-thirty. I donned a fresh apron, extracted the biscuit dough along with bacon, eggs, milk, and butter, and got to work.
    But when I flipped on the coffeemaker, I froze. What if Buck came back? What if he’d been serious about me being a suspect? I had nobody to vouch for me, no alibi for those hours he’d asked about. Even the fact that my old Dodge van had been here didn’t mean diddly-squat, since Buck had said Stella’s house was an easy stroll from here.
    I shook off the worry. My business would definitely fail if I got paralyzed by anticipating something that wouldn’t happen. I hadn’t killed Stella. I wouldn’t be arrested. Period.
    A bell dinged over and over. I strode to the wall near the door where a vintage phone in a wooden case hung on the wall. I’d had modern innards installed, but the heavy black receiver hanging from a hook on the side worked, as