“She didn’t mention it,” said Mamma. “Those two are cut from very different cloth.”
“How’s poor little Crystal?” Daddy forked a bite of country fried steak and gravy.
Mamma gave him a quelling look. “She’s not one of the sympathetic characters in this story, Frank.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s fine as far as I know.”
“Why in the world would Zeke run around on a sweet wife like Tammy Sue?” Mamma asked. “I feel like he really did love her.”
“I think he did too, Mamma,” I said. “But from what we learned, it seems Zeke had a type. It started with Brenda—blonde and a bit rowdy, unconventional. But when Zeke went off to the army and then wherever else he went, Brenda wasn’t willing to wait to see if he came home. Or maybe he told her not to—who knows. In any case, she married Pete.”
Blake said, “And Zeke replaced her with April, who’s cut from the same mold.”
“But that blew up because they were too much alike,” I said. “Then Zeke met Tammy Sue, fell in love, and might’ve lived happily ever after, but then Crystal started pursuing him, and he just couldn’t turn down that type. She had too much of Brenda in her.”
Colleen faded in, perched on top of Mamma’s buffet. “Crystal was familiar.”
He didn’t know her all that well. I threw the thought at her.
“Sassy blondes were Zeke’s downfall—not what was good for him, but what was familiar. Too often that’s what you mortals chase. He found true contentment with Tammy Sue, but it was unfamiliar, so he destroyed it. Not intentionally, but nevertheless.”
What’s wrong with sassy blondes?
“I didn’t say anything was,” said Colleen. “That’s just not what Zeke needed. He needed stability. He had enough of a wild streak himself. He needed someone steady to balance that out.”
Well thank you for your analysis after the fact. I might have been a teensy bit sarcastic.
“Liz?” Mamma looked at me expectantly. “Sugar, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Nate and I both burst out laughing. Colleen bray-snorted exuberantly.
“What in this world?” Mamma looked at Nate and me like we’d lost our minds.
Blake looked up from his plate. “Hey, did y’all hear Michael Devlin is selling the family home?”
“What?” Please not to the Italians.
“Yep,” said Blake. “He discounted that spec house way low. Put the Devlin place on the market, says he’s moving to Savannah.”
“Does he have an offer?” I asked.
“Not yet,” said Blake. “He just listed it.”
“The Italians have lost interest,” said Colleen. “Hopefully someone local will buy it.” She stared at Blake.
Blake didn’t have that kind of money. What are you thinking?
“Savannah,” said Daddy. “What’s in Savannah?”
Blake looked at me mischievously. “I think it’s more who’s not in Savannah.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “This has nothing to do with me.” I cut my eyes to Colleen.
Daddy was clearly tired already of Michael Devlin as a topic of conversation. “Red Bird, did you tell Liz about that woman in the grocery store that tried to take me home with her?” He grinned.
Mamma covered her face. “Frank.”
“Tell her,” said Daddy.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We were in Edwards Grocery. I gave your Daddy my list, and he was helping me shop. I turned around to look at the meat, and he disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, I saw him putting groceries in another woman’s cart. I said, ‘Frank, what are you doing?’ He looked up, came hurrying down the canned goods aisle. He said, ‘You see that woman right there with clothes on the same color as yours? I’ve been following her around the store.’”
We all laughed. We needed to laugh. The week had brought violence to our small island town that wasn’t as unheard of as it used to be. Things were changing. The idyllic life we enjoyed had been once again marred by violence committed by one of our own, against one of our own. The anxious feeling in my stomach was diminished by the laughter, but it was becoming harder and harder to tamp down my anxiety with a lighter mood.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something ominous was headed our way.
The worried look on Colleen’s face did nothing to assuage my fear.
About the Author
Susan M. Boyer is the author of the USA Today bestselling Liz Talbot mystery series. Her debut novel, Lowcountry Boil, won the Agatha Award for Best First Novel, the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, and garnered several other award nominations, including the Macavity. The third in the series, Lowcountry Boneyard, was a Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) Okra Pick, a Daphne du Maurier Award finalist, and short-listed for the Pat Conroy Beach Music Mystery Prize. Susan loves beaches, Southern food, and small towns where everyone knows everyone, and everyone has crazy relatives. You’ll find all of the above in her novels. She lives in Greenville, SC, with her husband and an inordinate number of houseplants.
The Liz Talbot Mystery Series
By Susan M. Boyer
LOWCOUNTRY BOIL (#1)
LOWCOUNTRY BOMBSHELL (#2)
LOWCOUNTRY BONEYARD (#3)
LOWCOUNTRY BORDELLO (#4)
LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB (#5)
LOWCOUNTRY BONFIRE (#6)
Available at booksellers nationwide and online
Visit www.henerypress.com for details
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Henery Press Mystery Books
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Lowcountry Bonfire Page 22
