Make, Take, Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

tried a diversionary tactic. “I’m sure Detective Hadcho figured that out for himself. He seemed bright and competent. He didn’t need Detective Detweiler’s help to see how upset I was.”
    “But Detective Detweiler would want to know about the severed leg, wouldn’t he? He’d want to protect you.” Bama shivered. “Shouldn’t you at least tell him about that threat on the answering machine? About someone putting a message in our mail? I hope they don’t leak this to the media.”
    “You worried about sales?” My response was blunt, yes, but maybe it would steer us clear of the big rock which our conversational motorboat was bearing down on. I did not want to talk about my love life.
    Correction: My nonexistent love life. My big romantic blunder.
    Bama took the bait. “Kiki, this is the largest investment I’ve made in my life. It’s not just my investment, either. Speaking of which,” and she gave a nod to a customer. “You ready to check out?” Bama rose to help the woman at the cash register.
    Bama was right about the importance of protecting our investments. Against all odds, we’d both scraped up $5,000 each to buy a portion of the business. Actually, the Goldfaders had asked for less of a buy-in than I had first expected.
    But I also hadn’t expected it to be so hard to come up with my share.
    My mother-in-law, Sheila, thought I’d come into some compensation for the malfeasance that resulted in my husband’s death. After all, George—her son and my late husband—had been a part owner of a successful development firm. But that was wrong, too. The economic downturn of late hit the local real estate market hard. I should count myself lucky that the custodians in charge of shedding Dimont Development’s assets were able to write me a small check before they were forced to zero-out all its holdings.
    So I muddled along.
    Zero can be a wonderful starting spot.

Even though I was technically broke, I couldn’t let an opportunity to buy into Time in a Bottle pass me by. Desperate for money to invest, I’d hocked my engagement ring and emptied my meager savings account. I also cashed in a small life insurance policy I’d bought back when Anya was born. I borrowed $1,500 from my friend and former cleaning lady Mert Chambers. That was a debt I could work off by helping her with her other endeavor, Going to the Dogs, a pet sitting business. After two weeks of going meatless and drinking water instead of soft drinks, I handed my check for $5,000 to Horace Goldfader, feeling a heady combination of sinking heart and soaring hopes.
    I was part owner of the store!
    I was a single mom with no savings!
    Hard to say which emotion prevailed. On any given day, the seesaw of joy versus terror tipped one way and then the other twenty times over. As thrilled as I was at the store’s growing success, I spent each waking breath fearful of a personal financial crisis. So far, I avoided putting any emergencies on my credit card, since I was well-aware that its interest rate was sky-high. I suspected if an emergency came up I could do better by finding a loan shark. Or selling plasma. Or a spare organ.
    Which brought me back to the body part in the Dumpster.
    Ugh.
    Idly I wondered if our dismembered corpse had been in debt.
    Well, that was for the police to decide. I was staying out of it. I had to protect my reputation and my investment in our store. I couldn’t afford to play amateur sleuth. No sirree bobtail.
    To recoup the money I invested in Time in a Bottle, I was eating Kraft Mac & Cheese and Campbell’s Tomato Soup every night my daughter wasn’t home. No way would I let Anya know how broke we were. Not with the holidays coming. She deserved to have a child-like, blissful, and totally ignorant upbringing. Didn’t we all? I gritted my teeth and swore I’d do everything in my power to keep our precarious financial position from my child.
    That meant working my backside off. Putting in lots and lots of