Read Deadly Row to Hoe for Free Online

head. “Didn’t have time.”
    I threw back the covers and slipped on my ducky slippers. “There’s some leftover chicken downstairs.”
    “I don’t want to wake anyone,” he said, sinking onto the bed and pulling off one cowboy boot and then the other.
    “How about a quick grilled cheese?”
    His smile was tired. “Sure. Thanks.”
    I bustled down to the kitchenette, flipped on the overhead light and got out a cast-iron pan. I buttered two pieces of Meghan’s
homemade bread and began slicing sharp cheddar. Barr joined me, wearing a pair of worn flannel pajama pants that were a whole lot more attractive than they sound. Doing my best to ignore the impure thoughts my tired husband’s bare chest aroused, I dug around in the half-sized fridge, found some ham, and added a few thin slices to the sandwich. Once it was sizzling in the pan and the smell of browning bread filled the small space, I sat down across from him.
    “So?”
    He took a deep breath. “Well, there’ll be a full autopsy later. But she was definitely hit on the head with the proverbial blunt instrument a couple days ago. Probably a shovel. She was killed in the last twelve to thirty-six hours. The heat in the compost pile kind of fudged up the time of death, so that’s as close as the M.E. could get. Unfortunately, that means alibis will be almost impossible to identify or track.”
    I winced. “So you’re investigating it as a homicide.”
    “Absolutely.” He grimaced. Opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.
    “What?” I asked.
    He shook his head.
    I knew enough to let it go … and circle back later. “Did you find out who she is … was?”
    “No idea. They took her fingerprints, but running them takes a while, and she’d have to be in the system already for there to be a match. I won’t say it’s impossible to identify her that way, but it might be a long shot. We did get a pretty decent picture, though.”
    I perked up at that. Getting up to flip his sandwich, I asked, “Do you have it?”
    “Hang on a sec.”
    By the time he returned from the bedroom, his sandwich was oozing cheese onto a plate. I added a few potato chips, silently asked the local food gods’ forgiveness, poured a tall glass of iced herbal tea, and put his late dinner in front of him. He handed me the eight-by-ten photo, face down, and dug in.
    Sinking into the chair opposite, I fingered the thick glossy paper without turning it over. It was quite possible I was about to look at the picture of someone I knew, or at least someone I’d met. I inhaled, braced, and flipped it over.
    The photo had a kind of sepia quality, as if it weren’t really in color but not black-and-white, either. But instead of sepia browns it was in varying shades of blue and gray. Must have been a result of the light in the morgue where the picture had been taken. I had to admit the thought kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies.
    The mystery woman was shown from her bare shoulders up. Strands of short, mouse-brown hair escaped in a dirty halo around her face. Her neck was slender, her skin unlined and very pale. Well, duh. It would be, wouldn’t it? High cheekbones and a heart-shaped face revealed classic bone structure. Even in repose, she was stunning.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve never seen her before.”
    Barr swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He’d already snarfed half the sandwich. “I’m not surprised. If you’d known her, I would have expected Ruth Black to, as well. Tom and Allie Turner didn’t recognize her, either.”
    “Who all did you show it to?”
    “The Turners, Jake Beagle’s wife—”
    “Felicia,” I said.
    He nodded. “And Bette Anders down the street. After that it was just too late.”
    “What about Nate Snow and dear little Clarissa?”
    “It was after nine by the time I got out there. I think I woke the Turners up.”
    “I bet you did. They’re farmers, after all. Early risers by definition.”
    “Tom said Nate went to see a