Page 76 of Christmas Mittens Murder

Mooncat folded her arms over her impressive bust. “What are you, some kind of detective? Why are you asking all these questions?”

Uh-oh. “As I said, it’s because my twin sister is being looked at as a murderer. She’s not. Just like I’m not a detective.” I swallowed. “But if I can help find the real killer, everyone in town will feel safer. And Allie won’t have to worry about going to jail and leaving her little boys without their mom.”

Also, why was Mooncat reluctant to tell me about Narini and Val’s fight?

Chapter Twelve

“What happened to the afternoon lull, Ed?” I asked from my perch on the last stool at Edie’s counter. It was two-thirty, and I was completely, absolutely famished.

Every stool and every booth was full. Senior citizens and high school seniors alike jockeyed for space, with families and groups of young adults filling the rest of the space.

Ed swiped the counter and laid a fresh paper placemat and silverware roll in front of me. “What day is it, Cece?”

“Um, Friday?”

“Yes, Friday, the eighteenth of December, the last Friday before Christmas. Schools had a half day.”

So much for my plan to hit the high school after I left here and find Rafael at the end of the school day. My window had come and gone. I shouldn’t have gone to see him alone, anyway. What if he was a murderer?

“Nobody has their shopping finished,” Ed continued. “People are traveling. And, guess what else?”

“What?”

“Hanukkah starts Sunday.” He smoothed down his red Edie’s polo shirt. “Which means more families and more shopping. For me, it’s all good. But you can expect crowds everywhere through Christmas Eve.”

“I guess I’ll have to set my expectations. It is the holidays, after all.” Holidays with an unsolved homicide casting a slate-colored cloud over everything. “For now, I’d like a salmon burger with the works except onions, and a side of sweet potato fries, please.”

“A libation?”

“I don’t think so, thanks. Water is fine.”

He hurried off to put in my order and take more. An older woman waited on booths, and through the open window to the kitchen I saw a young man short-order cooking. They all helped one another in what looked like a well-practiced choreography.

I spied a text from Cam.

Where are you? What’s happening?

I wrote right back.

Late lunch at Edie’s. Join me?

BRT

Good, she’d be right over. I wanted to hash through with her what I’d learned since the morning, and the reactions I’d noted.

Before my burger arrived, I checked my email and national news, plus the one social media site where I spent any time. I thanked Ed and ate one-handed so I could scroll through local news channels. I got sidetracked, as one does, by a notice about the Phunniest Pun Contest right here in Colinas, followed by a story on the Healdsburg Prune Packers, the minor-league baseball team.

When I glanced up to see Cam standing next to me, I’d already finished my burger and half the fries. “When did you sneak in?”

“At about three-fifteen, right before you’d almost deprived me of your last fries.” She smiled as she swooped in to grab a few from the pile remaining. “I mean, a minute ago. What were you absorbed in reading?”

“It’s an article on a local baseball team. But I’ve always been a focused reader. I was reading with my fourth-grade class in the school library once, and my teacher had to shake my shoulder. The fire alarm was going off and the place had emptied. Why don’t you . . .” I glanced around. “Oh.” Every seat was still full.

“What, join you? Happy to, but impossible. It being Friday afternoon, I was considering a beer instead, since I ate lunch at a normal hour. What do you say we check out Hoppy Hills?”

“Sounds good. Finish the rest of those, if you want.” Which was kind of a moot point, since only two fries remained on the plate. I laid a twenty on the counter, plenty for the lunch plus a good tip. I stood and looked around for Ed.

He was behind the far end of the lunch counter talking to a woman with salt-and-pepper hair who appeared to be rather impatiently waiting for a seat. A slender man stood just inside the door. I took another look. He was in his forties, possibly late forties. His dark hair bore a white stripe, an unusual look. Could he be Rafael Torres? I elbowed Cam and tried to point unobtrusively with my chin. “I think—”

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