Died With a Bow

by Grace Carroll

  “Who me?” I said raising my eyebrows. As if that was a crazy idea. I was fine. Really I was.

  “You didn’t seem yourself today, even Frieda Young noticed it when you showed her a bow blouse when she wanted a sweater. She thought you seemed distracted.”

  I almost said “Who me?” again but I bit my tongue. “I’m sorry about that. I got off to a bad start today, you know, with the rain and all, and I never readjusted. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” I tried to smile, but my mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.

  “It’s clear to me what’s wrong with you,” she said.

  “Oh?” I said. Dolce is very perceptive, and I was afraid she had cottoned to how I was feeling disillusioned about my job, the customers and life in general.

  “No murders, no mysteries for you to solve. No police cars outside, no yellow tape around the place. No investigations and no handsome detective hanging around either. This is what you’ve gotten hooked on. Without the excitement of a puzzle to solve, you’re bored, Rita. I knew there was something wrong. I could tell.”

  “Me bored? Not at all,” I insisted. I shook my head to indicate what an absurd idea that was. As if I wanted someone else I knew to be murdered here at the shop or at their home. As if I enjoyed being hauled down to the police station to answer questions no matter how sexy the detective was. I always thought that Dolce was always right. But not this time. If I secretly longed for another murder on our doorstep, I’d know it, wouldn’t I?