Goody Goody Gunshots Read Online Free Page A

bundle of old rags.”
    Jawarski looked as if he was about to say something else, but one of the officers who’d been looking through the trees shouted, “Got some tire tracks over here, Detective,” and whatever Jawarski had been thinking was immediately forgotten.
    I jumped as if I’d been poked with a cattle prod and started toward the officer. Jawarski and his long legs passed me as if I was standing still, and Wyatt was only half a step behind him.
    Hoping that someone had finally found proof that I wasn’t hallucinating, I kicked myself into high gear and pushed through an opening in the trees I hadn’t noticed before. I stopped on the edge of a clearing about twenty feet square, and I could tell immediately that it had been flattened by more than one set of tires. “Anything?”
    Jawarski crouched to look at the prints the officer pointed out to him but shook his head as he stood again. “There’ve been cars here recently, but it’s impossible to tell how recently. We haven’t had rain in weeks.”
    “But they could be fresh,” I prodded.
    “They could be.” Jawarski tucked his notebook into his breast pocket and put a hand on my elbow. “We’ll check them out, but I don’t think they’re going to tell us anything. There are probably a thousand vehicles around here with tires like those.”
    “So now what?”
    Jawarski shook his head slowly. “We’ll keep checking, Abby, but I wouldn’t worry too much. If the man you saw had actually been shot, there would be signs of foul play. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t murder.”
    I chewed my thumbnail and tried to figure out what I’d missed. I knew I’d seen the limping man get shot. There was no question in my mind. But I also knew that Jawarski was right; there wasn’t one shred of evidence to prove it.

Chapter 4
    “They found nothing at all?” my cousin Karen asked the next morning. Not surprisingly, I hadn’t slept well the night before, and she’d noticed something was wrong with me the instant I stepped into the shop. After making coffee and pouring two cups, she sat me down at one of the wrought-iron tables in the shop and pumped me for information.
    “Are you sure you saw the guy get shot?” She asked, brushing a lock of auburn hair from her eyes.
    “I’m positive. Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
    Karen, ever practical, shrugged, scowled at something on the opposite wall, and stood again. “Because there’s no sign that it happened.” Quick as a whip, she darted behind the counter, grabbed a handful of handmade candy sticks, and headed back to the nook where we’d set up the display of old-fashioned candies.
    I couldn’t just sit there while Karen worked, so I carried my coffee behind the counter and glanced out the kitchen door to make sure Max, my Doberman pinscher, was still curled in a sunny spot. The dog had spent his formative years as the inventory retrieval specialist for a friend’s clothing business. When Brandon died, I took Max in, but the poor dog’s life had been forever altered when he moved from a clothing store to a candy shop.
    Health codes prevented me from letting him hang out in our shop, but he didn’t mind spending time outside when the weather was good. Unfortunately, he made no effort to hide his unhappiness when it wasn’t. Luckily, last night’s storm had blown itself out, and the day had dawned sunny and warm, so Max seemed content.
    I had no idea what I’d do when the weather turned really cold. During the worst of the previous winter I’d sometimes let Max stay in the rooms on the second floor of our building. Recently, though, I’d wiped out most of my bank account repairing and renovating that space. We’d added a small service kitchen, replaced windows, repaired walls, and created a space large enough to host parties and meetings. I was pleased with the results, so I wasn’t willing to leave a lonely Doberman alone up there.
    Through the front window, I saw the people of