Read A Beeline to Murder for Free Online Page B

twice.
    “I’m in the kitchen,” Kat called out.
    Abby pushed open the heavy oak door, then entered the living room and dropped her heels next to Kat’s steel-toed duty boots. The cottage’s cozy interior, its biscuit-colored walls and soft furnishings in muted hues, offered a warm—and eclectic—charm. Though she was a twenty-eight-year-old, Kat surrounded herself with old things found at white elephant sales, antique and consignment shops, architectural salvage yards, and, of course, flea markets. Finding unusual items from bygone eras was an interest that she and Abby shared.
    Sinking into a cushion of Kat’s saddleback couch, Abby opened her clutch to remove the thumb drive containing the crime-scene photos. She stood, dropped her clutch on the couch, slipped the thumb drive into her pocket, and maneuvered through the cramped space between an accent chair, covered in needlepoint embroidery depicting young lovers surrounded by turtledoves, and a mahogany tea table, its doily-covered surface crowded with assorted china pieces. Passing the ornate floor lamp with way too much fringe hanging from its rose silk shade, she quickly gazed beyond the arched doorway and trained her eyes on the modest-size kitchen, where Kat was busily arranging sandwiches on a platter.
    “Something smells good.”
    “French onion soup,” Kat replied, grabbing a spoon to stir the steaming pot on the back burner. “Nothing fancy . . . just takeout from Whole Eats. I didn’t have time to make the real deal.” After putting down the spoon, Kat reached for the lid of the deli mustard jar and screwed it in place. She opened the refrigerator, and placed the jar on a shelf of the door. “Iced tea okay?” she asked, removing the pitcher.
    “Sure,” Abby replied, lifting up one small square of crustless bread on a sandwich from the platter on the table and examining the spread under it.
    “Chicken salad with cucumber,” Kat said, refilling her own tall glass with cubes of ice and tea and pouring one for Abby.
    “I can see that. My favorite.”
    After returning the pitcher to the fridge and closing the door, Kat turned to face Abby and quickly scrutinized her attire. “Jeez, I haven’t seen you dressed up this much since when Clay was around. Looking pretty good for a farm girl. Forget the shoes?”
    “No. Left them by the front door. Seemed like a good idea when I put them on, but I think I’ve forgotten how to walk in heels.”
    Kat smiled. “I know what you mean,” she said, sipping tea and motioning for Abby to sit. “My two cents . . . the lower the heel, the better. Who says women look best on stilts? I’m all about comfort.”
    Abby nodded. She slid into one of the mismatched chairs at the cherrywood table. “I doubt this little black dress would look as lovely paired with my ladybug clodhoppers,” Abby deadpanned.
    “Uh, no, you didn’t say that! But I get what you’re saying about comfort.” Kat set her tea glass on the table and fetched the one for Abby. “This pantsuit is a relic, but it’s so easy to move in, and I got it for a great price. You think it looks dated? I could change.”
    “Nah. The retro look suits your figure, and the apple-green color is nice on you. Lots of blondes wear that shade.”
    “Tell the truth now. You just like it because it reminds you of that organic lettuce you grow.”
    “Okay. Maybe it’s that, too. Speaking of vegetables, I’ve got a thing for onions. Is that soup ready? I’m famished.” Abby reached for the empty tureen on the table and admired the flow blue iris pattern for a moment before handing it to Kat.
    Pouring the soup from the stainless-steel pot into her prized china tureen, Kat turned her head away from the vapor cloud, which threatened to steam off her makeup. She ladled a generous helping into Abby’s bowl before filling her own dish. After fastidiously wiping the edge of the tureen with a tea towel and placing it on the white Battenberg lace tablecloth, she