Love Lies Bleeding (China Bayles Mystery)
Susan Wittig Albert
The newest in the nationally bestselling series--a "fast-paced and absorbing" tale (Midwest Book Review). Ex-lawyer and herb-shop proprietor China Bayles is investigating the mystery of retired Texas Ranger shot dead with his wife's gun...and at the same time trying to sort out some mysteries about her own relationship after she overhears a suspicious phone conversation...
assistant investigator. Glad I caught you both together. That way we won’t waste any time. Are you two working on a case? Do you have a couple of hours this weekend you could spare for me?” These questions require a bit of background. Last March, my friend Dottie Riddle got into an argument with her neighbor over her cats. When the neighbor unfortunately ended up dead, Dottie was the prime suspect. I called The Whiz to help get her out of jail. The Whiz insisted that Ruby and I do the
to see what had happened. Roy was dead. I was the one who called the police.” “You didn’t see her come home?” Ruby asked. “You didn’t hear any gunshots?” “No to both questions,” Minerva said. “My studio is on the other side of the house, and the windows were shut. Anyway, I told the policeman about the woman I saw, and he wrote it all down.” “Did he take a signed statement?” I asked. She shook her head. “He told me that he’d get it typed up and that I should go down to the police station at
She paused, musing. “Well. Minerva certainly was helpful, wasn’t she? I mean, now we’ve got the facts. We’ve confirmed that Justine’s friend was here, and that Dolores saw her, and—” “Ruby,” I said, “I hate to burst your bubble, but we don’t have a single fact. All we know is what Minerva says she saw. Not to mention that the woman—if there was one—might not have been Justine’s friend. She could have been the Avon lady, or an insurance person, or—” Ruby turned to me, indignant. “What do you
her face hidden in his shoulder, her dark hair rippling sensuously over his arm. “But there’s need for you to bother about any of that stuff. I’ll see that Dolores gets to the service. From now on, I’m taking care of her.” He looked down at her and raised his hand to her cheek. “Right, muchacha?” he asked tenderly. Dolores made a sighing sound and turned her back on me, her arm going slowly around Amado’s neck, almost as if it were moving against her will. He held her tighter, his face
nowhere with that plan, because what I heard when I dialed the number was Elaine’s recorded voice crisply instructing me to leave a message. I did get to talk to Ruby, though, and Sheila. I was standing on a stepladder, moving a display of handmade soap from a high shelf to one lower down, when Ruby came through the connecting door. The soap—palm-sized bars rich with coconut and olive oil and fragrant with lavender and patchouli—comes from Little Creek Farm in Missouri, where Sunny Gogel makes