Read A Lonely Way to Die: A Utah O'Brien Mystery Novel (Minnesota Mysteries Series Book 2) for Free Online Page A

wouldn’t.”

 
     
    FIVE
     
     
    Sam and I followed Wally out into the museum.
    I said, “Wally, you’re not going to investigate this as a possible homicide, are you?”
    He rolled up his watch cap and squeezed it. Then he relaxed his hand and put the cap on his head. “I hate saying this, but the department can’t afford the manpower right now. Not without any sign of foul play. There was a big drug bust a few towns over—heroin—and we got a pile of paperwork to fill out on that. Two of my guys are out sick, and the county is telling me I have to let a couple more go because they don’t have the money. And we’re getting a lot more domestics, because of the hard times. We can’t—”
    “So, would you mind if I look into it? Unofficially?”
    He stopped walking and turned, his head held slightly to the side. He gave me a searching look. “You’d take Mort with you, to keep you in line?”
    I smiled, remembering how well Mort managed that task the last time we did a little investigating.
    “Sure,” I said, to ease his mind. “We’re going to see Mildred, anyway. We might as well team up for a few more visits around town. I’ve been wondering why Sonje left her car on the north side of the diner? I mean, wouldn’t she park her car on the south side, up close to the river walk, to make it easier to get out to the Webb property?”
    Wally zipped up his coat, and started walking again, towards the front of the building. “Suicides aren’t all that rational, Utah. You can’t expect a person to be reasonable when they set out to do something like that.”
    “But still. Sam, what do you think?”
    “I can’t see her going out there at all. Gwyneth Price hasn’t been here since we put in the river walk. It wasn’t there when she was in high school.”
    We were nearing the front desk now, where I used to sell souvenirs when the museum was still open.
    “Sam, could Molly tell us exactly where Sonje went, after she left her car?”
    “I’ll ask her,” he said. “She might like that. She hasn’t had a job for a long time but her nose still works, and the snow would trap the scent. Still, we can’t expect too much.”
    Molly won an award when she was younger, for finding a toddler who walked away from his family when they were camping down by the river. Mort loves to tell that story, about how Molly spent her time on the stage during the award ceremony checking out the bigwigs’ nice polished shoes and leaving trails of slobber on the expensive leather.
    Sam went back to the kitchen to pry Molly away from the baby. I stayed at the front of the building and watched the sheriff walk through the blowing snow to his patrol car. He waved to the deputy, who was sitting inside the diner, staying warm. Wally got into the car, the deputy came out and took the wheel, and they drove away. The only car left in Angie’s parking lot was the dead woman’s black SUV, under a blanket of snow.
    It saddened me to see the diner so empty. I grew up there. My mother and I lived in the little apartment at the back of the building, and I did my homework sitting on one of the revolving red and chrome stools at the long counter. During the many years while my mother owned the place, there were ups and downs, times when people could afford a good breakfast at a good price, and times when pennies were pinched and business slowed to a trickle. But it had never been as bad as it was now.
     
    Sam came back. Molly was wearing her working harness. Gabe and Jocko came out after Sam, and they hurried to catch up.
    Gabe was more animated than I had seen him all morning. He was wearing his nice blue and gray jacket, Josie’s calf-high sheepskin-lined snow boots, and Mort’s black insulated gloves. My bright yellow wool cap was pulled down over his ears.
    “Molly’s going to help us figure out what happened to my mom,” Gabe said. “Sam says Molly used to be really good at tracking, but she might not remember how. But I think