Killing Thyme Read Online Free PDF

Laurel or I know who might step in on short notice. So first thing Thursday morning, I headed Down Under—the name for the Market’s lower levels—to twist an arm. Turned out, the chatty chocolatier needed no cajoling.
    â€œOne hour. Monday at ten.” I handed her the outline the director had given me. “Keep it simple: types of chocolate, their uses, a few basic cooking methods. Your experience makes you a natural.”
    Plus her shop was new and, despite her blissful truffles, struggling. Heresy though it might be, I wondered if there wasn’t a limit on how much high-end chocolate one city could eat.
    And the HR pro in me can’t stop searching for solutions to problems.
    â€œOh, Pepper! Thank you!” The petite redhead threw her arms around me, and I hoped I wasn’t sending a lamb to slaughter.
    *   *   *
    Midmorning, Kristen and Cayenne returned to the shop with the potter’s display models.
    â€œShe almost didn’t let us take them,” Cayenne said. “She said maybe doing business with you wasn’t a good idea.”
    After what I’d witnessed the day before, she might be right. “Did she say why?”
    â€œToo much time, water under the bridge. I didn’t catch itall.” Cayenne handed me a lidded salt cellar, a black herringbone pattern on white porcelain. “Isn’t this fabulous?”
    â€œMm-hmm.” I held the lid in place with two fingers and flipped it over. Two small diamonds had been scratched into the bottom. A fragment of memory gnawed at the back of my brain.
    â€œBut then she asked about the house,” Kristen said, “so I invited her to the party. She hedged a bit—I could tell she wanted to go, but she’s a little shy. So I said you’d give her a ride.”
    No doubt I resembled a salt pig myself, my mouth hanging open. “But if there’s some tension between her and Mom . . .”
    â€œWe’re throwing this party to honor the history of the house, and both Bonnie and your mother are part of it.” The door opened, and one of Kristen’s regular customers entered, a woman who counts on us to spice up her weekly dinner parties. “Be right there,” Kristen called to her. And to me, “Time for bygones to be bygones.”
    What bygones were we talking about?
    Cayenne and I arranged the crockery on a shelf, next to our favorite sea salts. We tucked Bonnie’s cards in an open jar, and Cayenne headed to the office to make a small sign.
    And then it was business as usual. We sold spice and served samples of tea. I told myself that Kristen was right and that whatever the old tensions were, Mom and Bonnie could work them out. Despite the shouts I—and everyone else on the street—had heard, no punches had been thrown. My mother had always advocated airing disagreements sooner rather than later, “so they can blow over.”
    And by a certain point in life, we all learn a few things about water and bridges.
    As if to prove the point, a set of bicycle wheels whizzed by the open door and screeched to a halt. The presence of a uniformed officer inside the shop can create a stir, so I marched to the door and met my ex on the sidewalk.
    â€œHey, Tag. What brings you here?”
    â€œJust making my rounds, keeping the peace.” He adjusted his Ray-Bans. The shades hid his baby blues, but I knew they were teasing me.
    I spread my hands in a “what could be wrong” gesture. “The sun is shining, people are shopping.”
    â€œAnd your mother’s in town.”
    He knew me well. “I’m thrilled to see her, Tag, you know that. It’s just—well, I’m not entirely sure why she’s here. Yeah, she misses the family, especially the kids. But I get the sense there’s more going on.”
    â€œIf you need an ear, or a shoulder, you know where to find me.”
    Even the sight of Tag’s backside in