by Linda Lovely
Moll pulled her iPad out of her oversized purse. “Here, I’ll show you some of the comments Fred and Gussie made about Harriett on their personal and business Facebook pages. Even with expletives deleted, it’s easy to tell they wouldn’t have bothered to spit on Harriett if her hair was on fire.”
“Okay, I’ll buy Harriett had enemies. Who doesn’t?” Jayla commented. “But would either of these folks risk killing a room full of people to do Harriett in?”
Mollye shrugged. “Why not? Years back some sicko tampered with bottles of a popular brand of pain pills his intended victim downed like candy. Thought he’d hide his motive by making it appear to be pharma-terrorism. The extra victims were simply collateral damage.”
Mimi raised her hand as if she needed permission to add her two cents. “The killer wouldn’t have to be a cold-blooded mass murderer. If he knew what medicines Harriett took, he could select something known to cause a fatal interaction. His choice might do little more than make the others sick.”
I nodded. “Dad and Andy mentioned the possibility. A drug interaction or medical condition might explain why only Harriett died. Dad noted an HIV-positive person could be more vulnerable to germs or toxins.”
Mollye glanced at our resident pharmacist. “Do you happen to know what medications Harriett was taking?”
Mimi shook her head. “She wasn’t a customer. But, it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t tell you even if Harriett had filled her prescriptions at our pharmacy. That information’s confidential. The sheriff could subpoena it, but there’d still be a hearing to determine if releasing her records would violate HIPPA confidentiality rules.”
“Even if the patient’s dead?” Mollye’s eyebrows ratcheted up.
“Yep, even if the patient’s dead,” Mimi answered.
Fara snapped her fingers. “I know. Let’s call Harriett’s mom and ask what pills she popped. I’m certain she’d be happy to chat with us.”
Though Fara was being facetious, she raised an interesting possibility. Who might know Harriett well enough to answer that question? Did we have any friends in common with Harriett?
“Maybe someone outside her family would know.” Mollye somehow channeled my thought. “How about ‘frenemies’—one-time friends she screwed with her blog? I can start chatting up that list.”
While I could make no such list, I was a whiz at internet research. Did Harriett post about her health on Facebook? Mention her fondness for a pain pill in one of her farm-to-table blogs? I’d check.
Suddenly I recalled a scene in one of Dad’s manuscripts where a fictional PI snooped in someone’s garbage. When I critiqued the scene, I asked if the PI’s actions were legal. Dad said yes. “If the trash can was on public property, there was no expectation of privacy.”
Hmm. After trying to revive Harriett, I’d turned green and stumbled into her side yard for fresh air. On my knees in the grass, I noticed her garbage cans sitting in the alley waiting for pickup. Were they full? Might a search turn up an empty pill bottle or a pharmacy sales slip?
Harriett’s house was outside Town of Ardon city limits, and the county didn’t offer trash pickup. That meant a private service hauled the blogger’s trash away. I was fairly sure the alley was public property. Did it matter? Who’d care if I peeked in Harriett’s trash? If I found anything, I’d suggest the sheriff pursue a new lead.
A definite long shot. Yet there seemed no downside to taking a look-see.
I grinned, wondering how Paint would feel about helping me rummage through Harriett’s garbage cans tonight.
Maybe if I promised dessert.
TWENTY-ONE
Once again, Mollye banged a knife against her mug, snapping me back to our kitchen clutch conversation.
“Enough talk about Brie and killer desserts.” Mollye’s devilish grin suggested a sharp conversational detour. “Can’t believe none of you noticed my new jewelry.”
Jayla laughed. “Kinda tough since you usually wear five bracelets, six earrings, a nose stud, and what else am I missing?”
Moll jacked up one eyebrow—how did she do that?—before she thrust her left hand forward and waggled her ring finger. A red stone twinkled in the light.
I smiled. “Very pretty.”
“Neat,” echoed Mimi. “Is it a ruby?”
Moll snorted. “Guess I have to spell it out for you wankers. Ta da! I’m engaged!”
Shrieks filled the room. “You’re what? When?”
Moll laughed. “Deputy Danny popped the question a week ago. I said yes but told him I thought diamond engagement rings were a bore. Instead I wanted a garnet gem. It’s my birthstone and ancient Greeks and Romans thought it protected against negativity. Figured that was a pretty good property for an engagement ring. Plus it was easier for Danny to afford.”
I rushed around the table to hug Mollye. “I’m so happy for you.”
As the group celebration continued, we peppered Moll with questions. “When’s the wedding? Is it gonna be a big blow out? You’re not gonna elope, are you?”
She cocked her head as if this were the first time she’d contemplated any of her answers. “Let’s see. I want to enjoy being engaged, and you all need time for planning an engagement shower and, of course, a bachelorette party. That, of course, means a junket to Atlanta and one of those bars where we can stick our hard-earned cash into nearly neckid men’s jock straps.
“You also need plenty of time for serious wedding gift shopping. Danny and I could tie the knot sooner, but I figure my friends need at least six months. And, of course, we won’t elope. Y’all would be devastated if you weren’t in on the festivities.”
Mimi laughed. “So cut to the chase. What’s the wedding date? Need to put this on my calendar.”
“Patience. I was getting to that. I ruled out summer. Who wants to get married with sweat dripping off your nose? I nixed winter, too. Don’t want goosebumps on my bare arms. That’s why we picked the twenty-second of September, the autumn equinox. Night and day are in balance, and so are hot and cold.”
Jayla laughed. “Of course you want a temperate weather date. Goes with your reserved personality.”
“Watch it,” Moll said. “Or you’ll lose your wedding invite.”
Jayla raised her mug in a toast. “Here’s to Mollye and Danny and a long happy life together.”
Once the echo of amens died away, Mollye grabbed my hand. “And we definitely can’t have you go to jail for some culinary crime frame-up. You have to be my maid of honor.”
Fara gave me an appraising look with her right eye. I’d discovered it usually stayed on task even when her left eye took off on a look about. “Maybe Brie will surprise us. Could be she’ll be a matron of honor by then. Any chance you’re hearing wedding bells when you’re with Andy or Paint?”
I shook my head. Had I heard a faint tinkle of bells with either man? If not, what was wrong with me? A thousand women would do just about anything—shave their heads bald, offer their savings as dowry, donate a kidney—for a chance to marry either man.
Moll nodded. “The girl does need to make up her mind. And, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m darned tired of referring to Paint’s boyfriend week or Andy’s boyfriend week. Can’t we come up with better names? How about Paint the Town week or Handy Andy’s Turn? Or maybe Andy’s Peeks, sort of a play on the mountain peaks of the Andes?”
Mimi giggled. “We can do even better if we choose names related to their professions. Tons of possibilities for Andy, like Wild Kingdom…You Animal…Animal Whisperer.”
“So what would you do for our moonshiner?” Jayla jumped in. “Liquor Lips Week?”
I didn’t bother to protest. It wouldn’t get them to stop. They were giggle drunk with possibilities. Why even bother with an eye roll?
“I vote for Moon’em for Paint and You Animal for Andy,” Fara piped up.
&n
bsp; “Nah,” Moll said. “Animal Passion is perfect for Andy. How about Brewing Trouble for Paint?”
I tipped my chair back and closed my eyes, waiting for the madcap nonsense to end with a vote. Moll’s suggestions carried the day. They usually did. My friend had a way of convincing you her thoughts were your own best ideas.
“It’s unanimous, Brie. From now on, we will refer to Animal Passion when you’re with Andy, and Brewing Trouble when you’re with Paint. While I’m eager for you to decide which fine stud is worthy of your undying devotion, you’d better not upstage me. No getting married before September twenty-second.”
She wagged a finger at me. “I can’t have any of you ladies distracted by other nuptials, not until after Danny and I walk down the aisle.” She giggled. “If it’s an aisle.”
“Promise,” I said. “I won’t get married before you do. Even though I have a strong premonition you’ll set the wedding celebration bar awfully high. Might make any wedding that follows—even a royal wedding—seem a drab, disappointing affair.”
I laughed. I meant what I said. Mollye’s wedding would be amazing. Non-traditional and awe-inspiring. Just like her garnet engagement ring, her nuptials would be a colorful, happy surprise.
Everyone left, smiling and laughing. Delighted for Mollye. I was thrilled for her, too. But I couldn’t totally ignore the hint of sadness that made a sneak-attack as I watched my friends leave. My friendship with Mollye was unbreakable, but it was bound to change. Both Jayla and Mimi were married. Fara was happily divorced. Once Moll walked down the aisle, I’d be the group’s spinster.
Oh, stop it! Thirty-three is not old age. You love Paint, and you love Andy. You’ll figure it out. As Aunt Eva would scold, “Don’t be a horse’s patoot.”
TWENTY-TWO
Paint swept me into his arms the minute I answered his knock. He lifted me off my feet as his soft lips found mine. A tingling heat radiated to all flesh points east and west, north and south. Especially south.
He didn’t release me until Billy called out. “Let the girl breathe, Paint. You’re gonna smother her.”
Eva laughed. “Don’t you know such displays embarrass your elders?”
The kiss made me dizzy. Too bad I lacked enough oxygen to instantly lob an insult back at my aunt and her beau.
“Billy, since you elderly folks still play in the boudoir, I’m gonna buy Eva one of those buttons that let old folks call for help when they can’t get up.” Paint had stepped up to the plate with his own verbal jabs. “Sooner or later, Billy, you’ll fall asleep on top and Eva won’t be able to shove you off. ’Course I wouldn’t envy the rescue workers. The sight of your hairy behind might scar them for life.”
Eva chuckled as she shook her head. “Git. It’s about time you got here, Paint. I do have plans for Billy before he starts snoring. By the way, Brie’s girlfriends have come up with a new name for your designated boyfriend week—it’s Brewing Trouble Time.”
Paint laughed. “I like it, and I keep hoping to brew enough trouble that Brie’s clothes fall off. Did they give Andy’s week a name, too?”
I nodded. “Yep. It’s Animal Passion week.”
Paint’s mock reaction was one of horror. “Oh, no, I don’t think that’s right. His week sounds more dangerous than mine. I’m gonna have to come up with alternates.”
I grabbed my jacket off a hook by the door. “No comment. Think I’ll just say goodbye. See you when we see you. Take that back. I don’t plan to see anyone when I get home. I’ll tiptoe directly to my room. Won’t even stop for a glass of water.”
My chivalrous beau helped me into the cab of his distinctive truck. If Paint’s ride had been the mystery vehicle parked at Summer Place, Miss Medley could have ID’d it in even dim light. Like Mollye’s Starry Skies van, the truck served as a business billboard. Artwork on the cab doors featured a barmaid with two frosty mugs and, ahem, two prominent jugs. I’d yet to meet the model who lent her charms to the Magic Moonshine brand, but I had a sneaking suspicion Paint was well acquainted with the lass.
Once he joined me in the cab, Paint leaned across the seat. His big hands cupped my face as he looked into my eyes. Then he kissed me again. A tender, lingering kiss.
“You’re supposed to stay out of trouble when I’m out of town,” he scolded once his lips left mine. “Bad enough I sacrificed two of my allotted Brewing Trouble days for a business trip. The fact you needed to call Andy for help rubbed extra salt in the wound. We need to do some serious necking to salve that hurt.”
I gave his chest a gentle nudge. “I don’t neck on an empty stomach. Let’s eat.”
“How does Chinese sound?” he asked. “Chan’s okay?”
“Fine,” I answered.
Chan’s Asian House in Clemson was one of our favorite restaurants. Paint could pig out on General Tso’s chicken while I enjoyed steamed vegetables and rice.
Once we were seated at Chan’s, I asked Paint how his Charleston visit had gone.
He shook his head. “Un uh. You go first. Andy gave me highlights of your run-ins with the True Believers but no details. What in blazes happened while I was gone? I can’t believe Nickles’ followers are suggesting you murdered Karen and Harriet.”
My detailed recap, prodded by Paint’s endless reservoir of questions, carried us all the way from pre-entrée fried noodle munchies to fortune cookies.
“What does your fortune say?” I asked.
Paint wiggled his eyebrows. “It says, ‘A naked lover will make all your dreams come true.’”
I grinned back. “Wonder if you’ve met her yet?”
Paint’s innuendoes and sexy banter offered a pleasant break from my guilt about Harriett and my worries the True Believers might be tempted to do more than picket Udderly. To banish those thoughts a little longer, I asked Paint again about his Charleston sojourn while we waited for the check.
He smiled. “Two more investors on board. Now I just have to find the right Lowcountry location and decide how to brand the fine spirits we’ll offer. Magic Moonshine is perfect for my ’shine product line, but not quite the image I’m after to market locally-distilled, high-quality whiskies.”
Watching Paint’s animated face as he talked about his business, I realized how passionate he seemed about everything. I practically hyperventilated wondering how he’d tend to that naked woman in his fortune cookie fantasy. A flush of heat shimmied up my neck. That man and that blasted dimple of his could make me hotter than a jalapeño with just the promise in one of his looks.
By the time we walked out of Chan’s, I still hadn’t broached the subject of dumpster diving behind Harriet’s house. When we were both back in the truck, Paint asked, “What would you like to do now? It’s way too early to go back to Udderly and interrupt Eva’s and Billy’s fun.”
Paint lifted an eyebrow and his lips lifted in a grin that clearly communicated what he’d like to do next. “We could pay my house a visit. Lunar would be delighted to see you again. He loves the ladies. Men, not so much.”
“Will Lunar be the only wolf I encounter?” I asked.
Paint had adopted the orphaned baby wolf two years ago. The handsome animal seemed to take a shine to me when we were first introduced. Still I wasn’t quite sure I trusted Lunar. A piece of the wild never left him. I wasn’t quite sure it had left Paint either.
“I can’t make that promise, but all of the wolves at my house know how to respond to commands.”
“Interesting answer.” I chewed on my lip. “Maybe we can swing by your place after we do some dumpster diving?”
Paint’s confused and somewhat alarmed expression made me chuckle. To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes when I explained my idea.
“Guess there’s no harm in driving by Harriett’s house to see if anyone’s there and scooting down her alley if it looks like the coast is clear,” he answered.
The minute we turned into Harriett’s street it was evident the dead woman’s house was occupied. Lights blazed from every window, and her driveway hosted a newer model BMW. Paint drove half a block beyond the house before he extinguished the truck’s headlights and pulled to the curb for our stakeout. He’d chosen a spot in front of a house with windows as dark as Harriett’s were bright.
“What’s the plan?” Paint asked. “Wait? Come back? Looks like a poor time to rifle through Harriett’s trash.”
I chewed on my lip as I thought. “Let’s wait a few minutes. My guess is family members are picking up things for the visitation and funeral. Maybe photos to display at the visitation or clothes for Harriett. I doubt they’d be cleaning out the house so soon.”
Paint’s fingers threaded their way through my curls as he gently nudged my head in his direction. “Meanwhile I’ll be happy to keep you warm.”
Unfortunately whoever designed the interior of his truck cab hadn’t made ease of necking a priority. When our lips met in the seemingly vast neutral territory between the driver and passenger seats, my neck muscles immediately squawked from the awkward angle. However, the steamy kisses provided sufficient pleasure to overrule worries about a mere neck dislocation.
I’d almost forgotten why we were parked when Paint broke our embrace. “Hey. The lights just went out inside Harriett’s house. Someone’s hauling out big, bulging trash bags and tossing them in the Beemer’s trunk.”
I strained to see what Paint was seeing. His driver’s window and side mirror gave him a panoramic view. I twisted around to stare out the back window.
“It looks like a woman,” I said. “She’s wearing one of those shapeless house dresses favored by the True Believers. Can you tell if it’s Mrs. Quinn?”
“Nope, not enough light,” Paint answered. “But she’s getting in the Beemer. If she drives past, maybe we can get a better look.”
The Beemer’s red taillights flared. “She’s backing out of the driveway, headed our way,” Paint warned.
