BEVERLY BARTON - Time of Death

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Is there any way we can talk in private?” Maleah asked. “Don’t you have somebody who comes in to help on weekends?”

“One of my part-time workers has a stomach virus. The other, who wasn’t supposed to work today, went out of town for the weekend.”

“Could you close the shop for, say, thirty minutes?” Derek asked.

“I could, but I still have two—” The doorbell chime jangled. Lorie looked over her shoulder. The lone remaining female customer—the one she didn’t recognize—walked out onto the sidewalk as the shop door closed behind her.

“Paul Babcock is deaf in one ear, but he refuses to wear a hearing aid,” Mike said. “He was in a hunting accident a few years back. I think we can feel certain he won’t overhear anything from where he’s standing over there.”

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