Death by Scones Read Online Free Page B

huge houses up on Craggy Hill. He was wealthy, although I wasn't sure how. I wasn't aware of a job, but maybe he'd inherited it. I didn't know much about him personally, but his house was the one you didn't knock on for trick-or-treating at Halloween.
    He came farther into the bakery, and the sea of people parted. Several of them stepped away and walked closer to the counters. They whispered about what he was doing here. We all seemed to have the same thoughts. As far as I knew, he didn't go out much, and I'd never seen him in the bakery before.
    He squeezed his way through the crowd and stopped when he reached the register. The way he gazed at me raised the hairs at the back of my neck. It wasn't threatening or creepy, just odd. Like he wanted to say something or expected me to. Maybe he needed to place an order and hadn't expected the crowd.
    "Can I help you?" I asked with a smile.
    He leaned forward and cleared his throat. "Where should we do this?"
    Oh my God, do what exactly? I hoped he hadn't considered that to be flirting. No. Nobody would think that line was romantic, not even a recluse.
    I must've widened my eyes or showed my confusion and slight disgust, because he flinched and stood straight. Then he glanced around, noticed everyone staring, and shouted, "Get back to stuffing your faces, and mind your damn business."
    Everyone did exactly as told. Buzzing chatter resumed, and although they tried to pretend Nathan wasn't there, they continued to glance at him from their peripheral vision or from beneath their lashes. It was covert but still obvious.
    He didn't look at me again. Instead, he walked to the closest table, picked up something, and shoved it into his mouth.
    I knew most of the people who resided in this town during the off-season. I'd lived here all my life. There were a few newer residents I wasn't familiar with, like that calorie-counting new mom, but if you'd lived here for at least ten years, chances were that I pretty much knew you. That wasn't the case with Nathan Dearborn though. Probably because he had the reputation of being as mean and stubborn as wine stains and never interacted with anyone. Why would anyone send him an invite, and more importantly, why would he show up?
    One of the older women said, "What's he doing here?" She turned to me. "Did you invite him?"
    I opened my mouth, not sure what to say. I hadn't invited any of them. I shook my head. "I didn't send out the e-mail."
    They frowned. My name was on the e-mail. But they didn't push it. They went back to the table of cookies.
    For the next fifteen minutes, people talked, ate, used the restroom, and someone had the audacity to ask for a bottled water…for free. Instead, Amber served hot coffee, which seemed to please the masses. And I tried not to calculate the money flying out the door. I hated thinking about money, but I no longer had Grams' persuasive and electric personality if needed.
     
    Finally people started to trickle out of the bakery. And as they left, I cringed at the mess they'd left behind. I didn't want to think about how we hadn't made one sale. Not one.
    Mallory, the PTA mom, stopped at the register, and my heart swelled. Would she buy something? "Riley, everything was superb. I'll be sure to tell all of my friends. Thank you for inviting me."
    "You're welcome," I said with a half smile. Hopefully her recommendation would create future sales, and today's loss wouldn't be a big deal.
    She waved and stepped into the crowd headed for the door.
    Then suddenly Mrs. Hendrickson was standing there. She startled me because her short, dark-blonde hair was slicked back in a very '50s John Travolta from Grease kinda way. Normally, she simply kept the sides tucked behind her ears. What was she doing here so early? Her shift didn't start until three.
    Karen Hendrickson was the bakery's night manager. She was a couple of years Grams' junior, and they'd been friends forever. She was also the grandmother of Will Hendrickson, the man