Morning Cup of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

old-fashioned answering machine, guessing correctly that it would be Ed McNeil again. He left an obnoxiously long message, extolling his own virtues and reiterating that her grandmother had no hope without him.
    When the phone rang again, she let that go, too. Another lawyer from the McNeil firm left another depressing, desperate message.
    “Ambulance chasers,” she muttered. Throwing off her covers, she stumbled to the shower. She emerged clean, but not refreshed. A glance at the clock showed her why; it was only seven in the morning.
    As she passed by the answering machine in the kitchen, she saw that three more messages had come in while she was showering and she didn’t need to press “play” to know who they were from. The phone rang again, and she turned off the ringer.
    She had three hours to kill before she could visit her grandmother. Now was the time to gather information. Grabbing her laptop, she returned to the coffee shop that had become her second home. As usual, the place was filled with a dozen blue hairs. On almost every plate was a large bran muffin.
    “Hi, Lacy.” Peggy the cashier’s tone was sympathetic when it was Lacy’s turn in line. “You’re here early today.”
    “Coffee, please. And a muffin.”
    “We’re out of bran,” Peggy said.
    Lacy stifled the unbidden urge to laugh. “Chocolate chip will be fine. That’s my favorite.”
    “Mine too,” Peggy said conspiratorially. “Although when you get to by my age, you start giving up the things you love for the things that are good for you.” She set a muffin on a plate, poured a coffee from the pot, and slid them across the counter. They exchanged money, and Lacy turned to go.
    The line behind her was still long. She had to pivot around several of the town’s elderly who made no move to get out of her way. She sat at a tiny table not far enough from civilization to suit her. Jason’s comment from the night before came to mind. You keep to yourself. Did she really? Did people view her as standoffish? New York had taught her to mind her business, but she never lost her insatiable curiosity about the world around her.
    She slumped over her muffin feeling suddenly defeated. Maybe she was depressed. Her life had certainly become depressing. Where was the joie de vivre she had once felt? When had excitement over her future been replaced by pessimism? Was she doomed to repeat this muffin-consumption routine until she died? Was her life out of surprises?
    Her computer came to life, offering a blessed reprieve from her sad introspection. As soon as she cleared up this mess with her grandmother, she was getting out of this town. Nothing good or interesting ever happened here. What Lacy needed was a shot of excitement, stat.
    The town’s only newspaper came to life on the screen. The main headline screamed something about the county fair next week. It took Lacy less than a minute to discover the story she was looking for. “Woman Found Dead in Home,” the headline read. But a click of the link showed nothing more than Lacy already knew.
    “Barbara Blake was found dead in her home yesterday. Police are still investigating.”
    That was it; that was the extent of the story. After a few seconds of stunned disbelief, Lacy threw down the remainder of her coffee and muffin, gathered her laptop, and stormed out of the café.
    The beauty of a small town was that everything was within walking distance to everywhere else, which was good because Lacy didn’t have a car. Occasionally she borrowed her grandmother’s car, but she tried not to do that often, hating to be more dependent on her family than she had to be. She didn’t mind walking; she had grown used to it in New York where public transportation made a private vehicle unnecessary.
    The newspaper was three buildings from the coffee shop. Lacy walked inside and impatiently drummed her fingers on the counter as she waited for someone to notice her presence and offer help.
    Eventually a large