Read Murder in a Basket (An India Hayes Mystery) for Free Online Page A

suspected I looked much the same when I saw Tess’s body laying there for the first time. “Oh my!” Carmen swallowed hard. She gaped at Tess’s body. “I mean you told me, but . . . I . . . I thought you were joking.”
    “ You think I would joke about this?”
    “ Well, I don’t know. It’s just so unbelievable.” She swallowed again and ran her free hand along her fresh-pressed khaki pant leg. “Did you try to, you know, revive her?”
    As if I didn’t feel badly enough about that already? I thought. I bit my lower lip.
    Carmen cocked her head. “Well,” she said with her bossy persona firmly back into place. “Isn’t that what you are supposed to do?”
    Mains cleared his throat. “She’s been dead for some time. There wasn’t anything India could have done.”
    I smiled my thanks , and unheeded, I felt tears well up in the corner of my eyes. I tried to blink them away.
    Carmen’s face softened. “India, I’m so sorry.”
    I swallowed. “I just met her earlier today. I didn’t know her very well, but she seemed like a cool lady. I wish—”
    Carmen turned her attention to Mains. “Ricky, I want to talk to you—”
    Mains held up a hand. “Not yet, Carmen. Trust me, you will have your turn.” His eyes never left my face. “Are you okay?”
    “ I’m fine.” I felt something catch in my throat and swallowed. “It’s just so awful. Poor Tess.” I pointed at the body partially obscured by Tess’s cart.
    Mains glanced down at her and grimaced. Knute and the rest of the officers walked the perimeter of the booth, peering intently at the grass, on the hunt for evidence. One of them held a huge camera with a telephoto lens. Mains waved her over. “Take a shot from every angle you can think of.”
    “ You got it,” Officer Habash said, another officer I’d met as a result of my brother’s troubles last summer. She gave me a quick smile. At least she didn’t hold a grudge like Knute did.
    Mains turned his attention back to me. “Now, tell me why you came back to campus in what looks like your pajamas.”
    So I did.
    “India, that money could have been stolen. I can’t believe you were so irresponsible,” Carmen said when I’d finished my story.
    I gritted my teeth. “I came back for it, didn’t I?”
    “ Still,” she said. “Ricky, what about the festival?”
    “ The festival?”
    Carmen made an exasperated sound. “Yes, the festival. That’s why all of these booths are here. I’m the chair this year. I must know if we can open on time tomorrow.”
    I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and checked the time. It was half past nine.
    Mains put a finger to the corner of his eye as if to stop a twitch.
    Carmen huffed. “I asked you a question.”
    “ What time were you planning on opening?” he asked.
    “ Ten.”
    Officer Habash, who wore latex gloves, held up the cat ’s head basket mold for his inspection. “Here’s your murder weapon, sir.”
    Mains nodded.
    “What the heck is that?” asked Knute, who had to move away from the patch of grass he searched.
    I inched closer to the scene, but I refused to look down at Tess. “It’s a cat’s head basket mold.”
    Knute gave me a black look. Gee, and I thought someday the two of us could be friends.
    “Tess was a basket weaver. She used it to make a basket. The corners kind of look like cat ears, don’t they? That’s where the basket gets its name.”
    Knute’s eyes seemed to glaze over with my ex planation. I knew the look well. It was the same look freshmen gave me during library orientation.
    “ Bag it,” Mains ordered Habash.
    “ You seem to know a lot about it,” Knute said suggestively.
    “ If you’re implying I had anything to do with this . . .” I gestured at my haphazard booth. “I was face painting in the next booth all day. I learned a lot about basket weaving in the amount of time. It was part of her spiel.”
    “ Her spiel?” Mains asked.
    “ You know, her sales pitch. Every artist knows you