Murder in the South of France, Book 1 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries
Page 47
Chapter Thirty-One
Gary rotated his head slowly, trying to work the strain out of his shoulders. He sat fully clothed, except for his shoes, on his Best Western bed. He’d arrived in Savannah an hour ago and had immediately taken a brief nap—something he rarely did at home. The stress must be getting to me, he thought as he massaged his neck.
He debated calling Darla but had decided against it. The five-hour drive had allowed him a peaceful respite he wasn’t quite willing to relinquish. No sullen stares or recalcitrant answers to perfectly normal, even friendly questions. Just a five-hour stretch of road and radio. He wasn’t willing to stir the numbness of his mind right now with the silent and not-so-silent accusations Darla would certainly feel obliged to dish out if he called.
It would be soon enough to call her after he’d had dinner with the prospective buyer. If all went well, he’d be in a good mood and better armored to endure her unhappiness. He got up from the bed to put on a clean shirt.