I felt a sudden gust of anger at my mother. She’d chosen to run away to a Third World country where no one could contact her.
Leaving me to deal with Daddy on my own.
~*~
Dark circles ringed newly widowed Trish Sterling’s eyes, but her jaunty nautical scarf, pressed slacks, silky blouse, and gold shoes gave her a polished appearance. She managed to get one step from the newspaper’s front desk where I sat, when a clutch of papers slid out of her hand and littered the floor. She burst into tears.
I walked her to a chair. “It’s okay. You’ll get through this.”
Trish pawed through her purse. Grateful for something to do, I plucked tissues from Ellen’s desk.
“Thanks,” Trish managed between sniffles. “It’s been three days, I should be cried out by now.”
I sat down next to her. “Grieving is an individual process.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Lindsey.” Trish dabbed her eyes. “It would’ve been awkward talking about Alan’s obituary with George.”
“Why?” Daddy and the judge grew up together.
She wrung her hands in her lap. “Because of those editorials George wrote.”
I exhaled slowly. “What did he say?”
Trish closed her eyes for a moment. “Alan wanted a saw mill here, and George got it sidelined. Then they had an ugly shouting match at Shorty’s Market.”
This woman was a gentle soul who painted watercolor landscapes. She must’ve been horrified at two grown men hurling insults over cans of creamed corn and Vienna sausages. “I had no idea. How embarrassing.”
Trish nodded, but the silence felt prickly to me. I scrambled from my seat, collected her papers, and handed the sheaf to her. “I assume you brought Alan’s obituary.”
She pushed the papers at me. “I couldn’t write it. Will you? I couldn’t deal with the funeral parlor man either. Too grim for me. Everything you need to write it is here. The graveside service is Monday at McKay Cemetery.”
I understood the pain of losing a loved one, but her request was unusual. “I can draft something, but you should proof it.”
Trish collected her golden purse and rose. “Whatever you write is fine.”
I blinked at her sudden composure.
She paused at the door. “It’s a shame about Alan’s Rolex. He loved that watch. It was the only one he’d found that was truly salt water resistant.”
Trish climbed in her Lincoln Town car. A Jack Russell terrier patrolled the top of her seat. How had shy Trish Sterling handled marriage to the extroverted judge? She must’ve been uncomfortable with his very public life.
Was there a reason why she refused to write her husband’s obituary?
It bothered me that I was even thinking such thoughts about a longtime family friend. I watched as Trish drove away.
A familiar silver Jeep pulled up, and Ike Harper strode in. “I saw Trish leaving.”
Ike’s belt carried enough police equipment to outfit a SWAT team. Hand cuffs, a riot baton, a spray canister, a handgun, and a cell phone dangled like ornaments around his trim hips. The sheriff was on the case.
I edged behind the reception counter to minimize the testosterone poisoning. “She brought me Alan’s personal records for his obituary.”
“I need copies for my investigation.”
“No problem.” I ran the papers through the copy machine behind me. “Any progress in your investigation?”
“For starters, we’re looking into people who lost cases tried in his courtroom. Any of them might’ve had a grudge.”
That would be a lot of people to check out.
“Do you need any tech assistance? I’m good with databases, and I’d like to do something to help. Alan Sterling helped me get my job in Atlanta by recommending me to my boss.”
Ike’s gaze turned icy. “I got this. Civilians shouldn’t nose around in police business.”
My temper flared. “I didn’t say you couldn’t handle it. I was trying to be helpful. Data review is one of my strengths.”
He leaned heavily across the counter, entering my air space. His wintergreen-scented breath caressed my face, making my pulse spike. “I’m good at what I do. Stay out of it, Linds, or I’ll lock you in the bell tower.”
My hand shot up to smack him. I came to my senses just in time. “I’m not crazy or naked.” My ancestress who’d saved the church was a noted eccentric. Her state of undress had been omitted on the church’s historical marker.
His dark eyes burned into me. “But you’re a McKay.”
“Always.”
“I’m planning on catching that killer. Mark my words.”
But that forty-eight-hour golden window for catching the bad guy had already passed. I bit my tongue rather than remind him. However, I couldn’t control my expression. Ike must have read my mind, because he stomped out of the newspaper. As I watched his retreating back, I thought, Serve him right if I solve the murder before he does. Then I’ll lock him in the bell tower. Naked.
Chapter 3
The sweltering cemetery teemed with mourners. I accompanied Daddy, Aunt Fay, Uncle Henry, and Cousin Janey and hoped the Presbyterian minister kept his remarks brief. My sleeveless black sheath was soaked. Nothing like August in coastal Georgia.
The judge’s children were here. Alan Jr. stood beside the mahogany casket with his pregnant wife and four children. Beside him was his sister Emily and brother Stephen. Emily’s marriage had been a one-month miracle. Rumor had it, Stephen had a male life partner in Jacksonville.
As the eldest son of a rich man, Alan Jr. had everything he’d ever wanted, as long as he heeded his father’s wishes. The judge cut Alan off when he married during his first year of college and chose teaching instead of a law career.
Alan no longer had that glow of affluence. A dryer sheet hung out of his pants leg. His narrow tie was framed by a dingy white shirt that had never seen an iron, and his wife looked like she was roasting in her dark tent dress. Poor woman.
After the ceremony, folks visited in the cemetery because there wasn’t a place in the county big enough to hold all of us. Daddy, Aunt Fay, and Uncle Henry strolled over to Trish. Cousin Janey left to retrieve her daughter from her ex, and I decided to extend my condolences to Alan Jr.
As I approached, a tot scampered across the graves, climbing over the headstones in her way. Alan shoved his son’s hand in mine and bolted after the escapee.
I squatted beside the child. “Hello, I’m Lindsey. What’s your name?”
He pulled his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say “Gene.” Success. “How old are you, Gene?” He held up four fingers. Smart kid.
Alan returned with the wandering child in his arms and kissed my cheek. “Sorry. This is Sally. We should’ve named her Greased Lightning. How’ve you been?”
“Fine. Sorry about your father.” Sally’s legs pumped a mile a minute, and a distinctive odor emanated from her diaper. If I had kids, they’d arrive potty trained.
His eyes looked sad. “The old man was a tyrant, but he was my dad. I’ll miss him.”
Alan’s wife waddled up to us, two kids in tow. If you lined up their children sequentially, they would resemble stair steps.
“Hi, I’m Daisy, and I’m roasting.”
I immediately liked her for her plain speaking. “I’m Lindsey. I attended school with Alan.”
“Nice to meet you.” Daisy turned to Alan. “The diaper bag’s at your mother’s, and it’s needed. Let’s go.” They made their goodbyes and left.
Alone, I stood in the shade and studied faces. I’d been too busy to give this any thought, but who killed the judge? Brodie from the hardware store? Alice Ann from the sheriff’s department? Shorty from the market? Misty from the beauty shop? Everyone looked innocent.
“You seem troubled,” the sheriff said.
Ike Harper heated my patch of shade to boiling. His thick eyelashes swept my length, and my hormones rioted. Mercy.
“I saw you with Ala
n’s boy,” Ike said. “You’re good with kids.”
Even the air was Ike-scented. Ocean fresh with a hint of musk. “Kids are okay.”
He edged closer and whispered. “I saw you observing everyone, Linds. Stay out of my investigation.”
A threat. “How do you know what I’m doing?”
His expression warmed. “Sweetheart, you’re an open book. Besides, I’m a highly skilled investigator, remember?”
Foiled, I cleared my throat. “Any luck narrowing down the suspects?”
“I’ve talked to everyone on my suspect list. I know who has an alibi for the time of death, which the medical examiner has set at eleven p.m. I’ll know more when I get the fingerprint analysis of the murder weapon from the state crime lab.”
“What about that photo my dog found?”
“Don’t know if it ties in.”
“Bailey was certain it was important.”
He braced one arm against the tree and leaned close enough for his breath to tickle my ear. “Forget the case. How about lunch tomorrow? Say yes, Linds.”
His voice resonated deliciously through me. Lunch with the sheriff would go down easy, but I didn’t need another tie to the community. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“It would be good between us,” he whispered.
A flash of molten heat shot down my spine. I slipped out from under his arm. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter 4
When I came downstairs for breakfast the next day, Daddy was sipping coffee. I let Bailey out and poured myself some. “You working today?” I asked.
“Nope.”
My jaw clenched. “Daddy, my job’s in Atlanta. I have to return soon.”
“The Colonel and I are birding today. There are interesting birds at the county’s north end just now.”
He probably hadn’t had a day off in ten years.
“How will you approve my decisions? What enticements should I offer advertisers?”
“Whatever you do is fine.”
What if Daddy didn’t snap out of it in two weeks? I needed him to accept his responsibilities. “We’ll talk more about this at dinner.”
“How about breakfast?”
I glared at him over my cup. “I don’t eat breakfast. For a detail-oriented man, you have a selective memory.”
“I eat breakfast.”
Something inside me snapped. My cup hit the counter hard, and coffee sloshed over the rim. “Do you want a caretaker? A pretend wife?”
“I have a wife,” he shot back, “though she wants nothing to do with me.”
Mama was off on her third international mission trip, but they hadn’t been close in a while. “Forgive me. I’m under a lot of pressure to do your job and mine too. Time is precious.”
“Let me rephrase. If you’ll join me for breakfast tomorrow, I’ll cook,” he said.
It was all he’d asked for since I’d been home. I caved. “It’s a date.”
As I walked to the door dressed in heels and a suit, I glanced at him, sprawled in his easy chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But I knew better. Moreover, I knew something was up. What was he hiding?
~*~
My coworker had the door unlocked and the lights on by the time I arrived. Ellen and I exchanged greetings and got to work finishing the paper. After it went to the printers, I posted the judge’s obit on our website, and began crunching numbers. A courier picked up my work for the Georgia Journal of Science.
I was wondering about lunch when the front door opened. Ellen’s mother had already picked her up for an early lunch twenty minutes ago, so I hurried to greet our customer. Bailey trotted after me.
Thomas Mattingly, Ellen’s ex, still looked lean and lanky. What was he doing with a potted plant? “Thomas. How’s the shrimp business these days?”
“Doing good.” He glanced around the office. “Is Ellen here? I brought her flowers.”
He wore clean jeans and an Oxford shirt, but his shoes were tar speckled. His grocery store cologne made my eyes water. I accepted the hyacinths. “She’s out of the office, but I’ll make sure she gets them. Is there a message?”
“The flowers are from Thomas. That’s the message.”
“Got it.”
Thomas leered at me. “You shouldn’t have dogs in a place of business. It’s unprofessional.”
Why was he picking on Bailey, who sat straight and tall by my side? The ringing phone saved me from spouting off. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Nah.” He left.
“Gazette.”
“Lindsey?”
I sank into Ellen’s chair. “Hello, Aunt Fay.”
“I saw Thomas Mattingly pass by here with hyacinths.”
“He left them for Ellen.”
Aunt Fay snorted. “He’s tired of frozen dinners and wants her back. Is she reconciling with him?”
“She hasn’t mentioned it, but I’m famished. Have you eaten?” We agreed to meet at Kingfishers in fifteen minutes.
When Ellen returned from lunch, her smile faded. “What’s this?”
“Thomas brought you flowers.”
Ellen hurled the pot in the trash and swore under her breath.
Nope, not reconciling. “You want to talk about it?”
Her long hair shimmered as she paced the office. “He owes me months of child support, and he buys flowers? If I didn’t have this job, we’d starve.”
“What a jerk. I’m sorry for accepting them.”
“I should’ve left him years ago.”
“Aunt Fay invited me to lunch at Kingfishers, but I can cancel.”
“I’m fine.” A slow smile tugged at Ellen’s lips. “I’m surprised Fay will go there. She swore she’d never return after they banned her raccoon from the premises.”
“Aunt Fay takes Scarlet everywhere. I want Bailey with me, but she’s not invited to lunch.” I shouldered my purse and drove to Kingfishers.
Aunt Fay had a table on the far side of the packed restaurant, so I threaded my way through the gauntlet of tables. Alice Ann Harper paused while buttering a roll to wave at me. I waved back, noticing that she was dining with a young man. Cousin Janey lunched with an elderly couple I didn’t recognize. Real estate clients, I guessed.
Brodie Dwyer from the hardware store rose to shake my hand. “Great paper last week, little McKay. Keep up the good work, and I’ll advertise again.”
“Thanks.”
Sarah Tidewater from the phone company captured my attention next. “Great mullet wrapper. Welcome home, dear.”
I blushed. “Thanks.”
Finally, I reached our table. “Made it. Did they run out of the special yet?”
“I ordered it for both of us,” Aunt Fay said.
“Good. I’m starved.”
“Everyone’s talking about last week’s paper, so you’re on the right track there, but what about George? I haven’t seen him in days.”
My good mood fizzled. I sipped my sweet tea. “Daddy’s in denial.”
The overhead light glinted off my aunt’s glasses. She patted my wrist. “Don’t leave. He needs you.”
Dishes clinked. Conversations pulsed around us. “I live and work in Atlanta.”
“So you do. Is George talking about the accident?”
The food came. Heavenly smelling fried shrimp, French fries, coleslaw, and green beans heaped on platters. If I ate like this every day, I wouldn’t fit in my Atlanta power suits. “We don’t talk much.”
“Pity.”
~*~
By closing time, I had a handle on the paper’s outstanding debt. The newspaper was fixable. Deep in thought, I almost didn’t hear the front door open.
“Where are my flowers?” Thomas Mattingly demanded.
Ellen’s chair squeaked. “All I want from you are the child support checks.”
My hand on my dog’s neckerchief, I hovered in the hallway, out of sight but ready to help Ellen if needed me.
“You’ll
be fixed for money once you come home.”
“We’re divorced. I’m never coming home to you.”
“If you don’t, I’m taking the kids.”
“Your threats don’t work anymore. Grow up and pay your bills.”
I’d had enough. I motioned Bailey toward the lobby. “Get ’em.”
Bailey started barking. I followed her and stood beside Ellen. Bailey backed Thomas up to the door. “Time to go, Thomas,” I said over the barking dog.
Ellen echoed my words. “Get out of here.”
Thomas turned red in the face and stomped away.
“He’s a bully, but I stand up to him now.” Ellen gripped her arms across the front of her chest so tightly her knuckles turned white.
His anger concerned me. “Talk to the sheriff about a restraining order.”
“I can’t. Then Thomas wouldn’t make the effort to see the girls.”
Ellen leaned down and hugged Bailey. “But you, dear heart, are the best. You can have my entire box of breath mints. Good dog.”
~*~
Daddy’s big talk about breakfast together the next morning turned out to be a fairytale. I even tried to wake him, but he rolled over. So much for getting him to realize he had a problem. At least, I was making headway at the paper. As I wrestled with the ad log, my boss called.
“Ready for civilization yet?” Ted Townsend asked.
His deep voice reminded me of Starbucks coffee, of Metro buses, and Atlanta gridlock. The six hours between us seemed infinite. “I’m needed here. Did my work package arrive?”
“Yes. I was shocked about Alan Sterling. Did they catch his killer?”
“The sheriff’s working on it.”
“Is he qualified? I’ve got connections with the GBI.”
Ike would hate Georgia Bureau of Investigation intrusion. “The sheriff’s no dummy.”
“Let me know. We can’t have killers on the loose.”
No joke. “Agreed.”
“You sound different. Are you quitting, Lindsey?”
His question surprised me. “Not planning on it, sir. Aren’t you satisfied with my work?”
“Yes, but I need a favor. Bob Harvey in ecology missed his deadline because of his wife’s heart attack. Would you finish his assignment?”
Really, Truly Dead Page 2
