Fillet of Murder by Linda Reilly Page B

She hurried over to where the chairs were set up in a half circle and seated herself next to Bea. Following Bea’s lead, she removed her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair.
    Jill and Suzy had retreated to the storeroom again, which gave Talia the chance to talk to Bea. “Jim Jepson isn’t here. Think he’s ditching the meeting?”
    â€œNo. Jim’s a good fellow. If he was invited, he’ll be here.” Bea turned at the sound of the door opening. “Ah, there’s Jim now. We should be all ready to start. Now where did those other two disappear to?” she groused. “I really don’t want to be stuck here too long.”
    As if by the wave of a magic wand, Jill and Suzy materialized from the storeroom. Jill carried a small tray bearing plastic stirrers and cocktail-sized napkins, along with flowered china plates for the snacks. Spying Jim and Cliff, she beckoned everyone over to where the tea and treats had been set out. She smiled at the group. “Why don’t you all help yourselves, and then we’ll get started with a little brainstorming.”
    â€œI’ll be right back.” Talia scooted up alongside Jim Jepson, the potter, whose gray hair hung in a neat ponytail over the back of his red flannel shirt. “Hey, Mr. J. How’s it going?”
    Jepson turned toward Talia, and his brown eyes danced with delight. “Hey yourself, Talia. It’s good to see you. And please, it’s time you called me Jim.” He poured himself a steaming cup of apple-infused tea. “So, you’re still over at Lambert’s helping out Bea, are you?”
    â€œYes. It’s déjà vu all over again. I don’t know if you remember, but I worked there when I was in high school. I always loved working for Bea and Howie.” She reached for a china plate rimmed with painted violets.
    â€œAs much as you loved my geometry class?” Jepson grinned at her. He slid two of the fried pickle rounds onto a rose-colored plate.
    â€œAh, good old geometry. I think the only thing I remember about the isosceles triangle is how to spell it.” English, she’d loved. Math, not so much. Talia helped herself to a sandwich of smoked salmon, along with another one of the irresistible pickle rounds. “I still don’t understand how you went from teacher to potter. The kids all loved you.”
    Jepson shrugged and held a pickle round to his lips. “Kids are fickle. Times change. ’Nuff said, okay?” He popped the pickle into his mouth.
    â€œUm, sure.” Feeling a bit nonplussed, Talia poured herself a cup of the same tea Jim had chosen.
    â€œOh man, did you taste these things? They’re fantastic.” Jim reached for two more fried pickles.
    â€œBea and I made them,” Talia said. She couldn’t resist preening a bit. “Mr. J., I mean, Jim, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
    â€œFire away.” He added an egg salad finger sandwich to his plate.
    â€œTurnbull told Bea that you’d caved,” she said quietly. “He said you agreed to sign the petition against the comic book store, and that Bea was the only holdout.”
    Jepson looked away. He nabbed a sugared lemon wedge and squeezed it into his tea. “He’s a liar. I never volunteered to sign that ugly document.” His nostrils flared. “It was elitism, in its purest form. I loathe that kind of snobbery.”
    Talia let out the breath she’d been holding. She wanted to believe him. But why had he looked away when she questioned him? Why was he still dodging her gaze?
    â€œThanks, um, Jim. I was sure he was lying, but I wanted to get it from the horse’s mouth, if you catch my meaning.”
    Jepson’s face relaxed. “I hear you.” The opening lines of “Light My Fire” crooned from his shirt pocket. Juggling his cup and plate in one hand, he dug out the cell with two fingers. When he saw the