Read Fillet of Murder for Free Online

who’d been three years ahead of Talia in high school, had escorted her into the interview room. Then a homicide investigator from the state police had arrived, tall and stately in his uniform, his expression appropriately grim. “Tell me again, Ms. Marby,” he’d demanded, his mouth curved up on one side in a near smirk, “why you entered Mr. Turnbull’s store when you knew it hadn’t yet opened for business?” He’d posed the question at least five different times, his phrasing twisted with each separate attempt. Had he been hoping to elicit a Perry Mason–style confession? And each time she’d told him the truth, insane as it now sounded.
    That painful boulder bobbed in her throat again. She couldn’t stop thinking about Bea. The poor woman had looked terrified when a pimple-faced, twentysomething officer had loaded her into the back of his patrol car andslammed the door. Even though he’d assured her that she wasn’t under arrest, she’d railed at him with all the fervor of a prisoner being wheeled to the Bastille.
    â€œIt’ll be okay, Bea,” Talia had screamed to her. But the sight of her friend’s frightened face peering through the window of the cruiser had nearly wrenched Talia’s heart out of her chest.
    After her “interview,” Bea had headed home to change. She and her husband, Howie, lived in a quaint, older subdivision on the outskirts of Wrensdale, about a ten-minute ride from the arcade. Knowing Bea, she was probably standing under the shower at this very moment, scouring her body with a steel wool pad and a bar of industrial-strength soap.
    Talia slid her gaze over the stainless-steel work counter, still shiny and clean. An enormous colander of boiled peas sat beside a stainless-steel bowl, waiting to be whipped and creamed into Bea’s delectable mushy peas. Over the years, Bea had improved on her original recipe by cutting out the extras and keeping it simple. The result was a luscious and healthy side dish even the pickiest of eaters couldn’t resist.
    Okay, get to work. The fish isn’t going to batter and fry itself, is it?
    She wasn’t even sure if Bea planned to open for business today. After Bea’s interview was over, she’d texted Talia that she was heading home to change and instructed her to meet her back at Lambert’s. Maybe—
    Oh God, poor Bea. Any other boss would probably hold Talia responsible for this entire mess and fire her. Talia knew Bea would never do that, but still, she felt wracked with guilt.
    With a groan, she pulled a clean blue apron off the wooden shelf in the corner where Bea kept them neatly stacked. Sheslid it over her neck, then tied it in a bow at the back. The least she could do was look perky and ready to serve.
    She’d just started to open the commercial refrigerator when the back door crashed open. Bea charged into the kitchen, spewing a chain of inspired expletives she could only have learned from her stint as a cook in the navy in the UK. But what truly startled Talia was the color of Bea’s lips. Fluorescent green, they were smudged at the edges and gave off a weird, shimmery glint. Biting off a giggle, Talia decided not to mention it until Bea settled down a bit.
    Talia closed the back door and peered at her friend—possibly her ex-employer—with concern. “Bea, are you all right?”
    â€œNo.” Eyes blazing, Bea snatched an apron off the shelf, sending the rest of the pile toppling to the floor. She’d changed into black trousers and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt—an ensemble that matched her current mood, to be sure. She slung the apron around her neck, twisting it into a hopeless tangle even as she struggled to tie it in the back.
    â€œLet me help,” Talia said. She grabbed the bottom edges of the apron and twirled them until they were right side up. She pulled the ties around Bea’s diminutive waist and