“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The sincerity in her voice made my heart squeeze, and I quelled the tears that threatened to rise. I was once more reminded of what great friends Wendy and I had been during those formative tween years. “Thanks. I can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. We really should have stayed in touch.”
“I agree. At least we can make up for that time now.”
A man in cargo shorts and a tank top stepped into the tent, the brim of his fisherman’s hat brushing the tent flap. “What interesting windmills. What do they do?”
Was this an honest-to-goodness festival attendee? I glanced down the street and saw clumps of people stopped at various booths. The awaited crowd had finally arrived.
I headed out of the tent. “Guess I’d better get back to my job.”
“We’ll catch up later,” Wendy said. Her words were the usual thing you’d say when you ran into an old friend, but I found myself looking forward to the idea.
A middle-aged woman in a tie-dyed T-shirt wandered toward Wendy’s tent, and I scurried back to my booth. My hands shook a little in anticipation as I straightened the brochures one last time and made sure the picture display sat straight on the easel.
A woman with long brown hair and wearing an off-the-shoulder peasant dress and cowboy boots walked up to Wendy’s tent and peeked in. When she saw Wendy was busy, she turned and went back the other way. Fine, I didn’t want to tell her about the farm and spa anyway.
The man in the hat left Wendy’s booth and moved over to mine. I spent a few minutes outlining the services of the farm, including the new spa features. He took a pig pen and drifted away. Several people replaced him, keeping me busy for the next twenty minutes.
Once the last person had left, I stretched across the table and poked my head out. The street had cleared again, leaving only a couple of women who both seemed to be heading for Wendy’s booth. The closer one was the same one who’d stopped by before, the one in the cowboy boots and dress. The other, wearing a shockingly loud neon green pants suit, appeared to be in her early forties, though her flawless, cocoa-colored skin made it hard to tell. As I watched, the African American woman sped up and brushed past, leaving the woman in the peasant dress floundering in the middle of the street. Rude. The first woman disappeared from view, presumably into Wendy’s tent, while the other hesitated a moment, then walked away.
I bent down to grab a handful of pig pens to replace the ones I’d given away. As I straightened up, a loud female voice sounded from next door.
“Wendy, we need to talk.”
I felt a flutter of concern. She must be the woman in bright green who’d been in such a rush to reach the booth first. She sounded furious.
I couldn’t hear Wendy’s response, but the woman didn’t lower her voice at all. “You know exactly why I’m here. I want some answers. Now.”
Maybe I should go over there. Make sure Wendy was okay.
I moved toward the gap at the end of the table, but stopped when someone blocked my way.
“Dana, I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Forget Wendy. I had my own problem, and her name was Kimmie.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2013 by Staci McLaughlin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-8598-0
All Natural Murder Page 28
