A Suspicion of Strawberries (Scents of Murder Book 1) by Lynette Sowell Page B

out of business. I had to take out a loan to float me through the rest of last summer, and I’ll be paying on that for another couple years. By that time she’ll be worm food. Ironic.”
    The sounds of the market faded to nothing, and my pulse roared in my ears. My throat burned. While this information was nothing new, hearing him and seeing him say the words to my face was downright terrifying.
    I felt Ben’s presence next to me. He slipped his arm around my waist. Despite our earlier prickly feelings, I had no doubt of his loyalty. I also understood a silent I told you so from him as I remembered the story he’d told me on the way over in the truck.
    “So. . .how much for the strawberries?” I gestured to the tray, figuring I’d buy extra.
    “On the house.” Mike waved off the money I held out. “It figures I should sympathize with you about Charla.”
    “No, I couldn’t do that. You need paying customers, too.”
    Mike straightened. “Before you run to the cops and claim I tried to kill her and succeeded at last, you ought to know something.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble of trying to set up an allergy attack. I mean, c’mon. A shotgun would’ve been much simpler. That’s what I told ‘em last year when she tried to smear my name through town right before we broke up.”
    A petite brunette approached from the direction of the main house and sidled up to him. Mike slid his arm around her and kissed her on the nose.
    “Hey, sweetie.” Mike’s throat bobbed, and he shot me a look that screamed the conversation was over. “We having lunch in a while?”
    “Yup, I’m driving over to Honey’s for some box lunches.” She smiled at us. “Hi, y’all.”
    “Hi.” I picked up my strawberries. “You two have a great day.”
    Ben and I trudged from the open-air market. “Now that was interesting.” I kept replaying Mike’s words in my mind. We found Ben’s truck, and he popped our produce onto the seat between us.
    “I’ll say.”
    I climbed into the truck. Mike’s mood puzzled me. Anger, betrayal, rage, revenge. His demeanor rang out that he still loved her, but he wanted her to suffer for dumping him, for hurting his business. Mike’s rage at Robert also had me baffled. I mentally crossed him off our suspect list. . .for now.
    It only made sense that he wouldn’t have gone through the subterfuge of sabotage. If he was forthright enough to confront Robert physically, he’d have done the same with Charla. When he said he’d have shot her if he really wanted her dead, I believed him.
     
     
    Ben fired up my charcoal grill outside while I sliced freshly washed strawberries for shortcake in my kitchen. We’d stopped at the grocery store after the farmer’s market and picked up some rib eyes which were now marinating in the fridge. Ben came inside and swiped a berry from the basket before I could slap his hand away.
    “You know, while I was on the road, I listened to a late-night radio talk show about murderers and serial killers,” Ben said.
    “That’s a creepy choice for late-night listening.” I looked at him and shuddered. “And you out there on the road by yourself.” It wasn’t like Ben couldn’t hold his own in a fight—not that he’d ever had to. His burly stance was usually enough to intimidate some people. “Didn’t bother me. But I remember an interesting comment the profiler made. About the killer’s gender and MO.”
    Why didn’t he just come out and say it? I dumped a handful of sugar over the strawberries and stirred. “And, what’s that?”
    “Female killers tend to use poisons. It sounds like something a woman would do, spiking your scrub with strawberries.” He poured us each a tall glass of tea.
    I handed him the foil-wrapped bundle of salted onions and butter to place on the grill. “You think?”
    “Really. What guy would go to all the trouble of messing with your face cream? I don’t even know what you do with