One Fete in the Grave
Page 23
“I went to the entry hall and sat on the stairs, waiting to open the door when you arrived.”
The only fortunate aspect of this tiresome inquisition was that Sheriff Dave was conducting it in the air-conditioned comfort of the Erdmans’ roomy kitchen, appointed with gleaming commercial-grade appliances and marble countertops. I helped myself to a Diet Coke from the under-counter fridge stocked with bottled water and soft drinks.
“Dave, you want something to drink?”
“No, ma’am. I’m good.”
Presumably to emphasize that this was official business, Dave made a point of calling me “Mrs. McKay” and “ma’am,” instead of “Liv,” despite the fact that we’d long been on a first-name basis. Tall, lean, and not bad looking, our normally genial sheriff could, nonetheless, present an imposing demeanor when he had a mind to.
“I know you didn’t ask me, Sheriff Davidson,” I said, following his cue on formality, “but, despite the fact the bodies were found at their house, which would naturally make them prime suspects, I can honestly testify that the Erdmans were both completely shocked by the discovery.”
“Can’t rule anything or anyone out at this juncture, but I take your point,” he said.
After he finally stopped probing my brain for details, I had to ask, “Dave, do you have any idea why Duane was wearing a Confederate uniform?”
“He and his brother were both involved with one of those Civil War reenactment units,” he said. “As to why he was dressed out in uniform, I can’t say. They’ve got some big reenactment event coming up in a few weeks.” He went on. “Now, let me ask you a question, Ms. McKay. You seem to keep your ear to the ground. Do you have any idea who might have had a reason to kill the Farrell boys?”
“Seems obvious to me, Sheriff,” I said. “It must have been some damn Yankee.”
Dave did not seem at all amused.
Vickie Fee is a past president of the Malice in Memphis chapter of Sisters in Crime and current member of the Wisconsin Sisters in Crime. She has a degree in journalism and spent many years as a newspaper reporter, covering small southern towns populated with colorful characters, much like those in the fictional town of Dixie. She now lives in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with her husband, John. She grew up in the South on a steady diet of Nancy Drew and iced tea, and when she’s not writing, Vickie enjoys reading mysteries and watching B movies from the 1930s and ’40s. Visit her online at www.vickiefee.com, or on Facebook@VickieFeeAuthor.
Between a riverboat gambler-theme engagement party and a murder mystery dinner for charity, Dixie, Tennessee, party planner Liv McKay is far too frenzied to feel festive. Add to the mix her duties at the annual businesswomen’s retreat and the antics of a celebrity ghost-hunting diva, and Liv’s schedule is turning out to be the scariest thing about this Halloween—especially when the ladies stumble across a dead body in a cemetery . . .
Morgan Robison was a party girl with a penchant for married men and stirring up a cauldron of drama. Any number of scorned wives or frightened philanderers could be behind her death. As Liv and her best friend, Di, set out to dig up the truth, they’ll face the unexpected and find their efforts hampered by a killer with one seriously haunting vendetta . . .