Read Online A Burned Out Baker: Classic Diner Mystery #7 (The Classic Diner Mysteries) by Jessica Beck - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Beck
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could put it out. Ever since, an open flame scares me to death.”
“And yet you light up a cigarette every day,” I said.
“That I can’t help. It’s an addiction. You know who you should really be talking to?”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Susan Proctor. She’s the one Barry dumped me for. That chick is certifiably insane if you ask me. She could have easily gotten upset with Barry and lit him up.”
“What makes you think she’s crazy?” Moose asked.
“Have you seen where she lives? It’s nothing but a hole in the ground. Literally.” Sandy glanced at her watch, and then she said, “Listen, I’m sorry about Barry, but there’s nothing else to say. I need to go now; I’ve got to go to work or they will dock my pay, as bad as it is.”
We started to follow her into the diner when Moose’s cell phone rang. Sandy went ahead, and I started to follow her myself when Moose grabbed my arm. I stayed behind, and I heard him say, “Fine. We’ll be there shortly.”
“What was that all about?” I asked Moose.
“It was your husband.”
“What’s wrong with Greg?” I asked, worried that somehow this mess had come back on him already.
“Nothing. Someone is at the diner, and she wants to talk to us right now.”
“Is it Susan Proctor?” I asked.
“No, though it would probably be better for me if it were. Holly is waiting for us there. She told Greg that she had something important to tell us.”
“Martha must be pleased to have her there,” I said sarcastically. Judge Holly Dixon was an old friend of my grandfather’s, and though he swore nothing had ever happened between them, she was the one woman who could make my grandmother jealous. I had a hunch that she had a reason to feel that way, not that Moose would ever be unfaithful to Martha, but he hadn’t been married to her his entire life, though he often claimed that it felt that way. All I knew was that there was some kind of history between the judge and my grandfather, and I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to know anything more than that.
“We both know better than that,” Moose said. The man was so distracted by the judge’s appearance that he’d missed my sarcasm, a sure sign that her presence at our diner had thrown him off. “We need to get back to the diner right now.”
“What about Sandy?” I asked.
“We can discuss her on the way, but I’m not sure what else there is to say. It doesn’t matter right now, anyway; this can’t wait.”
“Fine. Let’s go then.”
It appeared that I’d have to have my pie later. I agreed with Moose, though. This had to be important, or else the judge wouldn’t have come to The Charming Moose.
As my grandfather drove us back to Jasper Fork, I asked, “Do you believe Sandy’s telling us the truth?”
“Which part of her story are you talking about?” he asked. “The part about the fire from her childhood sounds suspiciously convenient as an explanation for why she couldn’t have done it.”
“I might give it a little more credence if she hadn’t been smoking when we got there.”
“You don’t buy her aversion to fire, do you?”
“Moose, a flame is a flame, and if something happened when she was a kid, surely it would have scarred her enough to keep her from ever having a lighter in her life again.”
“Who knows? Maybe it’s true. Then again, she could be a pyromaniac for all we know.”
“She very well may be,” I said. “I want to check out her story, and I’d also like to talk to Luke Yates about her.”
“What do you want to ask Luke?” Moose asked.
“I want to see if there have been any other suspicious fires surrounding Sandy’s life in the past,” I said. “I have a hunch this might be part of a pattern.”
“That’s a good idea,” Moose said, clearly distracted. He wasn’t watching the road close enough as his front left tire drifted off the pavement into the gravel. “Sorry about that,” he said as he overcorrected and got back
“And yet you light up a cigarette every day,” I said.
“That I can’t help. It’s an addiction. You know who you should really be talking to?”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Susan Proctor. She’s the one Barry dumped me for. That chick is certifiably insane if you ask me. She could have easily gotten upset with Barry and lit him up.”
“What makes you think she’s crazy?” Moose asked.
“Have you seen where she lives? It’s nothing but a hole in the ground. Literally.” Sandy glanced at her watch, and then she said, “Listen, I’m sorry about Barry, but there’s nothing else to say. I need to go now; I’ve got to go to work or they will dock my pay, as bad as it is.”
We started to follow her into the diner when Moose’s cell phone rang. Sandy went ahead, and I started to follow her myself when Moose grabbed my arm. I stayed behind, and I heard him say, “Fine. We’ll be there shortly.”
“What was that all about?” I asked Moose.
“It was your husband.”
“What’s wrong with Greg?” I asked, worried that somehow this mess had come back on him already.
“Nothing. Someone is at the diner, and she wants to talk to us right now.”
“Is it Susan Proctor?” I asked.
“No, though it would probably be better for me if it were. Holly is waiting for us there. She told Greg that she had something important to tell us.”
“Martha must be pleased to have her there,” I said sarcastically. Judge Holly Dixon was an old friend of my grandfather’s, and though he swore nothing had ever happened between them, she was the one woman who could make my grandmother jealous. I had a hunch that she had a reason to feel that way, not that Moose would ever be unfaithful to Martha, but he hadn’t been married to her his entire life, though he often claimed that it felt that way. All I knew was that there was some kind of history between the judge and my grandfather, and I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to know anything more than that.
“We both know better than that,” Moose said. The man was so distracted by the judge’s appearance that he’d missed my sarcasm, a sure sign that her presence at our diner had thrown him off. “We need to get back to the diner right now.”
“What about Sandy?” I asked.
“We can discuss her on the way, but I’m not sure what else there is to say. It doesn’t matter right now, anyway; this can’t wait.”
“Fine. Let’s go then.”
It appeared that I’d have to have my pie later. I agreed with Moose, though. This had to be important, or else the judge wouldn’t have come to The Charming Moose.
As my grandfather drove us back to Jasper Fork, I asked, “Do you believe Sandy’s telling us the truth?”
“Which part of her story are you talking about?” he asked. “The part about the fire from her childhood sounds suspiciously convenient as an explanation for why she couldn’t have done it.”
“I might give it a little more credence if she hadn’t been smoking when we got there.”
“You don’t buy her aversion to fire, do you?”
“Moose, a flame is a flame, and if something happened when she was a kid, surely it would have scarred her enough to keep her from ever having a lighter in her life again.”
“Who knows? Maybe it’s true. Then again, she could be a pyromaniac for all we know.”
“She very well may be,” I said. “I want to check out her story, and I’d also like to talk to Luke Yates about her.”
“What do you want to ask Luke?” Moose asked.
“I want to see if there have been any other suspicious fires surrounding Sandy’s life in the past,” I said. “I have a hunch this might be part of a pattern.”
“That’s a good idea,” Moose said, clearly distracted. He wasn’t watching the road close enough as his front left tire drifted off the pavement into the gravel. “Sorry about that,” he said as he overcorrected and got back
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