Murder in a Basket (An India Hayes Mystery) Read Online Free PDF

friendship with you he would care enough to do something himself.”
    I didn’t like where this was going at all. In truth, I hadn’t even spoken to Mains in three months. Mentally, I counted to ten backward in French. “Officer Knute, do you have everything you need for now?”
    Knute nodded. “Yep. I’d better be off so I can hunt down some jaywalkers.”
    “ I don’t like your lip, young man,” Ina said.
    Knute walked to his car but got in one final parting shot. “Nice dress.”
    I looked down at the pink nightmare I wore.
    Ina watched Knute drive away with contempt. “I bet that Mains character didn’t come because he’s English. You know how the English feel about our people. I can just tell he plans to treat this like the potato famine and let the defenseless fend for themselves.”
    Not this again. Ina was on a genealogy kick, following her family’s lineage all the way back to Ireland. During that research, she discovered her great grandfather immigrated to the United States during the potato famine of 1845. Obsessed with the horrors of that time, she talked about it nonstop, enjoying one gruesome detail after another. I thought the topic was sobering and interesting—at first. However, there came a point when the death and starvation of thousands of people lost its appeal. At least for me. Ina was another story.
    “ Detective Mains had nothing to do with the potato famine, Ina,” I said, even though I knew it was useless to argue.
    “ That’s what he wants you to think.” She threw open her front door. “I’m going inside. I have work to do. I need to find the police chief’s phone number and file a complaint. Do you think your parents have his number?”
    She nudged Theodore to go inside with her. Slowly he lifted his body from the porch and lumbered into her apartment.
    “Most likely.” On that note, I excused myself and went into my apartment.
    *
    Thirty minutes later, Templeton and I sat on the couch watching a deliciously stupid episode of reality television and eating ice cream. It was just what the doctor ordered after a long day of painting faces under my sister’s thumb. I sat Indian style on the couch in my I Love My Cat pajamas with the ice cream pint in my lap so Templeton could get to the container more easily. I knew some people would be disturbed that I ate after my cat, but he’s a finicky neat-nick and much cleaner than most people I know. More practically, he’d claw my eyes out if he didn’t get his share.
    In the past, I’d tried to give him his own bowl, but it never worked. He always polished it off before I could get my second bite in and then came after my serving.
    On the TV, one of the women complained about the untidiness of the camp they were living in.
    “ You’re in the jungle. What do you expect?” I said.
    Templeton meowed and I interpreted his meow to say, “These people are morons.” He twitched his tail for emphasis.
    After swallowing a large spoonful of ice cream, I told him, “You’re right.”
    I glanced at the cart of face paints and brushes sitting by my front door. I wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow and round two. The fact I was both neighbors with Derek’s mom and Lepcheck’s sister didn’t make it any easier, no matter how much I liked Tess. At that moment, my brain registered the cart was black. Not blue as it should be, but black.
    “Oh crap! Templeton, I’m the one who’s a moron.” I jumped out my seat, sending cat and ice cream container flying. “I grabbed the wrong cart.”
    Templeton hissed and swatted at his right ear, trying to get off the bit of ice cream that somehow had landed there.
    It was true. There had been two rolling carts under my table. The black one held the face-painting equipment, and the blue one held my paintings and, I realized, my fanny pack with all the money.
    I had to go back for it. The paintings would be ruined if they got damp. Not to mention, my sister would have a conniption fit if I lost