by Emma Ames
He set his jaw and stalked forward.
She took two more steps back. “Please. I can pack in a hurry. I’ll call Mom from the road and tell her we’ll pick Gracie up when we get back from our honeymoon.”
“No, we need her to go with us. We can’t come back here. Tell me you love me again.”
“I’ll do better than that. Put the gun down, and we’ll seal the deal with a kiss.”
That’s the only promise he needed. He placed the weapon on the counter and held out his arms.
Front and side doors flew open. Tizzy dropped to the floor. Ridge and Bubba, rushed in, weapons drawn. “Get down now!”
Freddy dove for his gun and shots rang out from both directions. He fell to the floor.
Ridge rushed to kick the gun away, checked Freddy’s pulse, then looked over at Bubba. “He’s dead. Call it in.”
Tizzy lay on the floor, unable to move. Bubba stared down at her like a treed coon.
Ridge grabbed an afghan from the couch, threw the blanket down on top of her and poked Bubba in the shoulder. “I said, call 9-1-1!”
Bubba snapped from his trance. “Oh, yeah.”
Ridge knelt and kissed her. “Damn, Tizzy. You scared the hell out of me.” He pulled her close. “If anything ever happened to you—,” His voice trailed off.
She clung to him. “I never saw this coming. Thank goodness, you knew I was in trouble.”
“I came to warn you, but I was too late.”
“You knew it was Freddy?”
“Something Rita said about a cat trophy killing, to prove their love for their owners. I figured it had to be Troy or Freddy. They both suffered from big-time crushes. I noticed that when I met them but wrote it off. With their troubled pasts, they fit the profile. Once I read over the insulin list, and Bubba confirmed Freddy’s mother was diabetic, it fell into place.”
“The list helped you.”
“You stole it, right?”
Tizzy wanted to answer, but Ridge stopped her.
“No. Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
“So much for your first case, huh? You solved it within the two weeks.”
He pushed her away and fought a smile. “Yeah, and so much for Bubba never seeing you naked.”
The waterworks started again.
“Baby, it’s all right. I’m not mad that Bubba saw you.”
“That’s not it. Your time is up, so now you’ll be leaving. What are we going to do?”
He pulled her close. “I’m not leaving. I got a transfer.”
She threw her arms around him. “You did? Really?”
“Yep.”
“I love you.”
He inspected the cuts on her hand. “This one might need stitches. You want to break into the clinic and stitch it up yourself, or should we do it legally and see a doctor?”
“Very funny.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
“Ridge—just now—in my head—”
He sighed. “Oh, brother, here we go.
Dear Readers
Thank you for taking the time to read Secrets, Lies, and Homemade Pies. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends and posting a short review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Word of mouth is an indie author’s best friend, and reviews help readers choose books.
Thank you.
Emma Ames
Cookbook
Sweet Thangs
Southern Sweets from Two Sassy Sisters
Fictional characters Pattiecake McAlister and Sugarpie Monroe cook up delicious confections at Sweet Thangs Bakery. Inside this book, they share more than 130 homemade recipes, including luscious cakes, yummy cookies, sweet salads, delectable pies, scrumptious candy, and delightful drinks, perfect for special occasions or gift-giving. Available in hardcover, softcover, and eBook, at all major online outlets.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B015NGU8P2
Preview
Gloom, Doom, and Missing Groom
Coming Soon
Twenty-four hours ago, Tizzy Donovan was naked in Ridge Cooper’s bed, screaming to get God’s attention. She loved everything about Ridge. How his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck when he needed a haircut. Steel-blue eyes set against the hard lines of his face. Broad shoulders, thick chest, the way he held the steering wheel of his truck. She pictured him, standing straight, thumbs hooked in his front pockets, cowboy hat settled just right.
A knock at the door snapped Tizzy from her daydream. She turned from the window as Matron of Honor, Rayann Tatum, peeked into the room and held out a mug.
Tizzy accepted the drink. “Is he here?”
Rayann flipped her long blonde hair back and widened her green eyes. “Not yet.”
“He’s not coming.” Tizzy put the cup to her lips and gulped. “Holy crap!”
“Sorry, I should have warned you, that’s tequila, not punch. I thought you needed something stronger, but go easy on it because I don’t think you’ve eaten since yesterday.”
“Wonderful, now I’m going to hell for drinking in the Lord’s house. Not to mention all the fornicating I’ve been doing with Ridge, and today, he doesn’t show up to make an honest woman of me.”
Tizzy knocked back the rest of the drink and thought of every possible scenario for her groom’s absence. Wrong church? There was only one Methodist Church in town. Flat tire? He lived close enough to walk to the ceremony. Cell phone dead? Two land lines were at his disposal. Heart attack? The chance of that couldn’t be high, but it would be the most acceptable excuse.
“It’s been over an hour. He isn’t answering his phone. Daddy went to his house. His truck’s gone.” She paced. Her bare feet sank into the deep carpet, a small comfort against heartache. “What’s wrong with me? Boone joined the Marines to get away, and now Ridge doesn’t show up for our wedding. Am I that bad?”
Rayann fell in beside Tizzy and matched her pace. They zigzagged across the room like a band formation during a half-time show. “C’mon, Tiz. It has nothing to do with you. Boone enlisted to avoid Marlene. You know better than anybody what a witch his sister was. He didn’t want to spend his life working with her at the bank.”
Tizzy stopped at a small table and picked up her engraved invitation. James Ridge Cooper and Marjorie Louise “Tizzy” Donovan, request the honor of your presence.
Until an hour ago, it had been a perfect day. The sun shone across an endless blue sky, and the temperature hovered in the upper sixties. It held the promise of being one of the best days of her life and now might be one of her worst. “Ridge told me he fell in love with me at first sight. You knew I was in love with him before I did.”
“Oh, honey.” Rayann embraced her. “You’d been a widow and without a man for five years. To say you were horny would be an understatement. You named your vibrator.”
A lump formed in Tizzy’s throat and her thoughts jumbled. She rested her cheek on Rayann’s shoulder. “Ridge is the perfect man for me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“When he calls me ‘Margie Lou,’ my heart skips a beat.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“He gave Gracie a kitten.”
“Yes, and he gave you, azaleas.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Any other man would have sent roses, but not Ridge. He gave me shrubs.”
Rayann patted her friend’s back. “I’m sure he has a logical explanation for not being here.”
“You’re right, but what is it?”
Tizzy distracted herself with happier thoughts. First United Methodist Church held wonderful memories. Youth fellowship, Bible school, choir. Her church family loved her. They grieved when Boone died and rejoiced at Gracie’s birth. They even accepted Tizzy’s weird habit of sometimes talking to dead people.
She raised her head and stared out the window. Brilliant leaves danced on the branches of sweet-gum trees standing at the edge of the woods. She lost herself for a moment. “October is such a beautiful month, don’t you think
?” She didn’t wait for Rayann’s answer. “You go on now. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Take your time. Nana McAlister and her Sunday school class started serving the congregation punch and cookies, so they’re happy.”
Once the door closed behind Rayann, Tizzy ran her hands across her ivory trumpeted lace gown. Ridge would love this dress. She adjusted the shawl collar. She’d tried on at least twenty styles before deciding it was the one.
She fiddled with her hair, secured a loose strand, then pinched the top of her nose to hold back tears.
A table full of gifts got her attention. She slid the silky ribbons through her fingers. These will all have to be returned.
Moving to the mirror, she practiced smiling a few times, then checked her makeup, and decided there was no need to rehearse anymore. She straightened her shoulders and stepped into the adjoining room.
Everyone waiting turned, not to greet a radiant bride, but to console her.
Saint McAlister fixed his gentle blue eyes on his daughter. “Do you want me to announce for the congregation to go home?”
“No, Daddy. I’ll tell them.”
She walked out into the sanctuary with the rest of the party members close behind. They stopped near the doorway, but she moved to the center of the room and stood beneath the ivy-twined arbor. At the sight of her, the crowd became so quiet; she could hear the air move.
Her eyes swept the full view of the area. Flower-filled wicker baskets hung from each pew. The sweet fragrance of roses and frilly snapdragons drifted to her. Her hand tingled. She still held her bridal bouquet. She brought the flowers to her nose, inhaled, prayed for strength, and addressed the gathering.
“Thank y'all for coming today and being so patient. Unfortunately, there won’t be a wedding.”
Her voice trembled, but she managed a weak smile. “However, I would like for you to go into the fellowship hall for the reception. The cake is to die for. Five layers, each one with a different filling. Raspberry, lemon, coconut, cherry, and chocolate. Ridge insisted on chocolate.”
The congregation didn’t move, apparent shock and awkwardness held them in place. “Please, go. I’m fine.” A lie, because she wasn’t and might never be again.
She faced the organist. “Mrs. Steele, please play the recessional.”
The musician bore down on the first note, holding the tone for a few beats. One by one, the group came to their feet and whispered among themselves as they filtered from the room.
Tizzy settled beneath the arbor and gazed to the end of the aisle. Her chest tightened. Emotions flooded over her. Maybe she had one of those post-something-or-other disorders. Post-wedding disorder. PWD. Left at the Altar Disorder, LATA had a nice ring to it. Perhaps she should call it WTF Disorder, Wed Tizzy—Fuhgeddaboudit.
A headache developed from all the questions spinning in her brain and the fact she’d had nothing to eat all day, except a double shot of tequila.
The attendants clustered together. Her parents sat on either side of her. “What do you want us to do, Tizzy?”
She lowered her head and massaged her temples. “Make sure everyone gets served. I put a lot of time into choosing the cake, and I hate for it to go to waste. That would be a shame. Ask Aunt Sugarpie to take all the flower arrangements to the nursing home. I want someone to enjoy them. There won’t be a honeymoon, but I’d still like for you to keep Gracie for the next few days.”
“Why don’t you both stay with us? You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I can’t. I’m going to find Ridge.”
Preview
Pretty Bows and Turned Up Toes
Coming Soon
Jay Roy Hobbs held the county record for talking women out of their panties. At least that’s what Tizzy Cooper had heard. Rumor said ladies ignored his lack of good looks and fell for his quick wit. Now, staring at him through binoculars, she wasn’t so sure humor was his main appeal.
She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat since arriving on the scene. It wasn’t the sight of a dead body that bothered her. She’d seen plenty of those over the years. Her talent for talking to the dearly departed made it a frequent occurrence. But while the rest of Brownsboro’s citizens were having their first cup of coffee, she was five miles out of town, at the edge of a field, swatting mosquitos. Not the way she intended to start her day.
Sunlight filtered through naked limbs of an old tree and cast shadows across colonies of Bishop’s Weed standing tall like lacy parasols. The only thing ruining the spring array—Jay Roy’s lifeless body.
At first, Tizzy considered he might be asleep or unconscious, but after calling out to him with no response, and given the color of his skin, along with the buzzards overhead, she decided on a third choice.
Stepping onto an old stump to get a better view, she focused the field glasses. About fifty yards away, the man lay naked, except for boots and a bow, on a patchwork quilt, face toward Heaven. Something twisted in Tizzy’s chest. Jay Roy and her mom graduated high school together, which made him much too young to die.
A few feet to the right, Tizzy’s friends, Synola Harper, and Rayann Tatum, shaded their faces and squinted toward the dead man. Tizzy stepped off the stump, adjusted the straps of her sundress and decided they must be as surprised as she by the sight because neither of them uttered a word until she passed the field glasses to Synola.
“Lord, can you believe the size of that thing?” Synola let the binoculars dangle around her neck. She tugged her red tank top against warm mocha skin, tucked it into the slender waist of her jeans and eyed Rayann. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen anything that big.”
Rayann tossed her head, blonde curls bouncing with the movement, then narrowed her green eyes. “Of course, I have. I watch HBO.”
“Uh-huh.” Synola went back for a second look. “Reminds me of a wilted purple tulip.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Especially with the bow tied around it.” Tizzy swiveled her head toward the road where clouds of dust billowed like smoke signals.
Within a few minutes, two patrol cars pulled to the side of the blacktop. She laughed under her breath. Nothing matched small-town life where every emergency vehicle responded when they got a 9-1-1 call.
From the first car, Henderson County Sheriff, Dan McAlister, Tizzy’s older brother, climbed out. Next, Rayann’s husband, police officer Dwayne “Bubba” Tatum ambled toward them.
“What are you doing out here this early?” Dan’s massive bulk blocked the rising sun and cast Tizzy in shadow.
“Don’t get bent out of shape. We’ve stayed away from the body, so nothing’s been disturbed.”
“I’m not worried. You have enough sense not to upset a crime scene.” He removed his hat, spit on the ground, and resumed his chew of tobacco like a cow chewing cud. “Just curious.”
“Rayann stayed with me last night because Bubba worked the graveyard shift and Ridge is still out of town.” The mention of Ridge made Tizzy’s heart ache. Marriage to a Texas Ranger could sometimes be a bad thing when cases involved nights away from home.
“Fraidy-cat Rayann can’t be alone at night.”
Rayann gave her the evil eye. “Shut up, Synola.”
When Bubba moved to stand next to his wife and planted a kiss on her cheek, she backed away. Tizzy eyed them and then nodded toward the house down the road. “Synola spent the night with her aunt. This morning, they noticed those buzzards.” She pointed up at the sky filled with birds gliding in a circle of ebony above Jay Roy. “Synola called us, I called 9-1-1, and here we are.”
The shrill whine of sirens sliced the air as the ambulance arrived, followed by the Justice of the Peace.
Synola shook her head. “Those EMTs love to use sound and lights. You’d think with that swarm of vultures overhead, they’d figure the guy’s dead, and it’s not an emergency.”
“He ain’t dead until the JP says he’s dead.”
Tizzy ignored her brother’s sarcasm. A sudden gust caught long strands of h
er hair and blew wisps across her face. Summer came early in Texas. Seven o’clock in the morning and the middle of May, and the temperature already hovered at eighty. Thankful for the breeze, she pushed the locks behind her ear and glanced at Dan. “Any chance Ridge will get this case?”
“What’s wrong? Feeling neglected?”
“Kinda. He comes in after I’ve gone to bed and leaves before I wake. Sometimes he doesn’t come home. I’ve barely seen him in the last two weeks.
“I talked to him earlier. He’s almost finished with the investigation in Gun Barrel City. The local guys can handle it. When he’s done with the paperwork, he’ll be here.” Dan put his hat on and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Wait a minute. You didn’t kill this guy to get Ridge back in town, did you?” He broke into a rowdy laugh.
She punched him on the arm. “No. That guy, by the way, is Jay Roy Hobbs.”
“No, shit.” Dan looked toward the body, then at her and laughed again. “Are you getting something? A communication from him? It’d sure be nice if he sent you a message from beyond to tell us what happened. Ooh-ee-ooh.” Dan sang and wiggled his fingers.
Tizzy punched him again. “Oh, you sound so spooky. And the answer is no. No messages.” No need to go into a long discussion of how her ability had taken a drastic turn
“Appears the JP pronounced him, so I’ll take a gander.” Dan sauntered away with Bubba right behind like a kindergartener in a game of Follow the Leader.
Within a few minutes, the two men returned, and Dan spoke. “It’s Jay Roy all right. Nekked as a jaybird, dead as a doornail, looking happy as a lark.”
“So his tally-whacker is that big?” Synola asked.
Dan swatted the air. “What? You think it’s fake?”
Synola placed hands on hips, rocked back on her heels, and peered at the body one more time. “No, I thought the binoculars might have magnified it.”
“Nope, it’s that size. The blue ribbon is a nice touch.” Dan wagged his head, then smiled and followed Synola’s gaze to Jay Roy.
“Looks like he won first prize in a Cock-a-Diddle-Do Contest.” Synola slapped her hand against her neck to kill a mosquito, then wiped the spot and cleaned her finger on her jeans.
