Read Paper-Thin Alibi for Free Online Page A

toss and turn. Bringing Mike’s death into their argument had been a low blow, but throwing in the word “suicide”—

    Jo stopped herself. There was no use going over it. It was typical Linda, and that was that. Jo rubbed at her tired eyes and grumpily suspected her nemesis had slept like a baby. The woman seemed to thrive on conflict and was likely bouncing with energy as she planned out fresh misery to inflict from across the aisle.

    Jo downed her first cup of coffee, letting the caffeine do its work, then braced herself. Darned if she was going to let Linda Weeks get to her anymore. She might not be able to control what Linda said or did, but Jo was certainly in charge of her own actions—and reactions. Not rising to the bait would be the best revenge. Plus it would save a lot of wasted energy, best spent on her own concerns and that of her jewelry booth, which, she reminded herself, still had a long way to go to earn back the cost of being at Michicomi.

    Feeling better with a plan of action, or rather non-action, in hand, she added a bowl of energizing cereal to her breakfast, showered, then gathered her things before checking door and window locks on her modest two-bedroom rental house. As she breezed past her jewelry workshop in the small garage to jump into her Toyota, Jo felt her focus had moved from the negative of facing Linda Weeks to the positive of welcoming the fresh stream of Michicomi patrons who might come to her today for that special piece of jewelry.

    Thirty minutes later, as Jo made her way through building 10 toward her booth, though, she noticed fewer friendly greetings and more than one uncomfortable look away. She was sure she knew why, and wished she could meet with each person who had overheard yesterday’s exchange between Linda and her and explain exactly what had led up to it, but knew that would be both impractical and fruitless. Gabe Stubbins’s welcoming smile as she approached, therefore, was wonderful to see. He beckoned her near to tell her—sotto voce, and with an impish wink—that she could count on him to ring the alarm bell from one of his wooden fire trucks if Linda came too near.

    Jo laughed, and remarked, just as slyly, “Wouldn’t it be great if those little fire hoses worked as well?” She continued on to her own booth, feeling cheerier.

    A pink-wrapped package sat on top of the tarp covering her counter, and Jo picked it up, curious as to what it could be. A quick scan showed it to be addressed to Linda, however, not Jo, and that it had come from Kitty’s Kandy, a gourmet candy shop with franchises scattered about Maryland. Jo looked over toward Linda’s stall and saw the back of her blonde head as she worked at adjusting her computer monitor. An evil impulse pulled Jo’s glance downward, toward her trash basket. Dump it , the fork-waving creature on her shoulder urged. Pretend it never arrived .

    Jo shook her head, tempting though it was. Still, she couldn’t quite bear the thought of carrying it over to hand to Linda. Then a woman came up to Linda’s booth and began engaging her in conversation, and Jo saw her opportunity. She quickly crossed the aisle with the package.

    “This is yours,” she said, setting it on an empty spot on Linda’s countertop, and did a quick reverse back to her own booth.

    “Well, well,” Linda’s voice sailed over, “looks like Jack Guilfoil remembered my sweet tooth.”

    Jack Guilfoil. That name rang a bell. Obviously Linda wanted her to know where the candy gift had come from. Then it clicked. Jack Guilfoil was one of the organizers of Michicomi. The brief conversation Jo had overheard during her dinner break the day before came to mind, with its hints of favoritism. Jo hadn’t seen any sender’s name on the box, but if Linda wanted to assume Guilfoil was who the box was from, that was up to her. Jo had her own business to attend to and she got down to it, readying her booth for customers, which was a good thing