Cinnamon Toasted (7 page)

Reba Mae perched on the edge of the counter, crossed her legs, and popped the tab on her Coke. “Whole town’s buzzin’ about you findin’ a body in the old girl’s cellar.”

“Technically, I didn’t find the body.” I straightened a pile of spice catalogs and food magazines I’d
yet to browse through. “Melly phoned in a panic, then hung up on me. I drove over to see why the fuss, saw Chip at the bottom of the basement stairs, and made the nine-one-one call.”

“Better have that number on speed dial, honeybun. You’re gettin’ quite the reputation. No need for a cadaver dog long as you’re around.”

Casey, who had been snoozing under the counter, raised his head at hearing
the words “cadaver dog.” He listened with one ear cocked, but when no further mention was forthcoming, he resumed his nap.

Reba Mae sipped her soda. “Melly all right? Must’ve been quite a shock.”

“CJ had the doctor check her over before bringing her here.”

“What did the doc say?”

“She’s fine other than her blood pressure being a little high. The doctor blamed it on her being upset, told CJ
not to worry. He wrote a prescription for something to relieve the stress.”

“Where’s she now?”

“Upstairs in Lindsey’s room, sound asleep.”

Reba Mae was gearing up to grill me like a burger on the Fourth of July. When you’d been friends as long as we’d been, you could recognize the warning signs. Thankfully, Doug Winters picked that moment to make an appearance. I wanted to rush over and hug
him—and not just out of gratitude. Doug had that kind of effect on me.

He greeted us with a smile. “Hey, ladies.”

“Hey, yourself,” I said. “Was the seminar a success?”

Doug had spent the week in Charlotte, learning new surgical techniques at a regional veterinary conference. My pulse did a happy dance at the sight of him. In spite of the prematurely gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses, Doug’s
face was boyishly handsome. While he reminded me of
American Idol
winner Taylor Hicks, Reba Mae insisted he looked more like a scholarly version of George Clooney. Way I saw it, didn’t matter which one, Taylor or George, both were easy on the eyes.

“Not only was the conference successful, but I managed to get in a round or two of golf with my buddy, Josh, too.”

“Golf, eh,” Reba Mae drawled,
“that explains the casual attire.”

Doug subconsciously smoothed the collar of his buttery-yellow golf shirt. “What’s all this I’ve been hearing, Piper, about you and your mother-in-law finding a dead body?”

“Ex-mother-in-law,” Reba Mae and I corrected, sounding like a duet.

“Are you both all right?” Brown eyes the color of melted chocolate brimmed with genuine concern.

“Melly’s shaken. She’ll
be staying with me for a few days.”

“What happened?”

“Yes, Piper, what happened? Do tell.” Dottie Hemmings, the wife of Brandywine Creek’s mayor, had apparently overheard the last of our conversation as she burst through the door. Her blond beehive hairdo was sprayed stiff enough to qualify as a motorcycle helmet. Resplendent in hot pink polyester, she advanced with the assurance of an ocean
liner sailing into home port. “I’ve been in Augusta, shopping all day. I stopped at the Piggly Wiggly on my way home to buy one of those roasted chickens they sell in the deli and ran into Jolene Tucker. Jolene said you’d found
another
dead body. Really, Piper, that has to stop. Keep that up, folks are going to start avoiding you.”

“Excellent advice, Dottie,” I said, but I think she failed to
detect my sarcasm. Jolene was the wife of Beau Tucker, otherwise known as Sergeant Blabbermouth of the Brandywine Creek Police Department. Who needed fiber optics to speed communications along when they had Beau and Jolene?

“When I came in, you were about to tell Doc Winters all the juicy details. Pretend I’m not here,” Dottie instructed.

I sighed. How many times would I have to go over this?
“Let me set the record straight,” I said. “Melly discovered a man at the foot of her basement stairs, called me to come over, and I called the police. That’s it in a nutshell.”

“A man?” Dottie gasped. “Don’t tell me Melly was seeing someone on the sly?”

I didn’t know if Melly would be outraged or flattered to learn some viewed her as a femme fatale—senior citizen style.

“Did you recognize him?”
Doug asked.

Reba Mae had probably already heard this part of the story from one of her clients, but she listened attentively nonetheless.

“I identified him as Chip Balboa, one of the partners in Trustychipdesign.com.” I realigned the stack of magazines even though it didn’t need realigning.

“Isn’t that the company that was going to make Melly rich?” Dottie didn’t wait for an answer. “Shirley
Randolph over at Creekside Realty told Jolene that Melly planned to put her house on the market. Said Melly wanted to buy herself a condo in Hilton Head.”

Reba Mae swung her foot back and forth. “I overheard Ruby Phillips say Melly wanted to move to Key West.”

“Key West?” This was the first I’d heard about a move to Florida. “What did she plan to do in Key West? Look for Jimmy Buffet’s lost
shaker of salt?”

Undeterred by talk of real estate, Dottie cut to the chase. “According to Jolene, poor Mr. Balboa had been dead for hours before it was reported.”

Reba Mae choked on a swallow of her diet soda. “That true?”

Doug looked at me quizzically while I silently counted to ten. Beau Tucker needed a come-to-Jesus talking-to. And I knew just the man to do it. I’m no Miss Manners when
it comes to police protocol, but it doesn’t seem very professional for an officer of the law to embellish details of a simple trip and fall.

“C’mon, out with it, Piper. The whole town’s buzzin’.”

I was tempted to borrow a line from McBride’s rule book, stick my nose in the air, and say smugly: I can’t comment on an active case.

“Don’t be coy.” Dottie waggled a plump finger at me. “You can always
tell your friends. When do you suppose he fell? Last night?”

Doug scratched his head. “How could Chip have fallen and Melly not have known about it?”

Reba Mae set down her Diet Coke. “Why would Melly wait so long to report it?”

Doug, Reba Mae, and Dottie all looked to me for answers, but I shook my head. I had none to give. “How,” “when,” and “why” were the same questions swimming inside my
own head. I shuddered inwardly. Melly was in trouble all the way up to her pearl-draped neck.

C
HAPTER
8

A
N HOUR LATER,
I filled Lindsey in on all the details regarding her grandmother’s situation while Casey waited patiently at our feet for his daily run in the park.

“Joey said Meemaw called you even before she called the police. Is that true?”

I stifled a groan at hearing the Tucker name again. The boy had apparently inherited the blabbermouth gene from his father. Whatever information
went into Sergeant Beau Tucker’s ears came out his mouth in the form of gossip. McBride needed to stuff a cork in it. “Yes,” I said, “it’s true.”

“Why do you think she called you first?”

“This is just a wild guess on my part, but maybe your grandmother was scared, nervous, and in a state of shock.”

“And because she knows you’re experienced when it comes to finding dead bodies.” Lindsey reached
into a jar under the counter and pulled out a doggy treat for Casey, which he accepted with alacrity. “I bet Chief McBride gave both of you the third degree.”

“Not yet, but our reprieve is about to come to an end. Your grandmother and I are due down at the station”—I glanced at my wristwatch—“in ten minutes.”

“Want me to come along for moral support?”

“Don’t you have a report due for World
History?”

“Yes, but—”

“No ‘buts,’ young lady. You need to dig in, get it finished.” Lindsey’s lower lip jutted out, the same way it used to when she didn’t get her way as a toddler, but I stuck to my guns. “If you don’t keep up your grades, you’re off the cheerleading squad. Period.”

“Fine,”
she said, infusing the word with life-and-death drama the way only a teen can.

My daughter was a pro
when it came to procrastination of the written-report variety. I needed to be on her like white on rice. I shuddered to think what would happen to her grades without my nagging once she entered college.

“You know how busy I am. There’s always new routines to learn. Our coach is constantly after us to practice, practice, practice. I haven’t even been able to get my nails done lately.”

“What’s
all this about not having time for a manicure?” Melly asked as she came downstairs. I was happy to see that she appeared well rested after her nap. Hair, makeup, twinset, and pearls, she looked good to go.

“Hey, Meemaw.” Lindsey greeted her grandmother with a peck on the cheek. “Mom’s being a slave driver. I offered to go to the police station with you guys, but she’s making me stay home and
work on that stupid history report.”

“It’s sweet of you to offer, dear, but with this place all to yourself, you ought to get that old report done in record time.”

“I suppose,” Lindsey grumbled, then brightened. “Meemaw, are you coming to the football game tomorrow night?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, honey. Heavens, it’s been years since I’ve been to a game. I never could tell the difference between
a tight end and a split end.”

I picked up my purse, took out my compact, and inspected my reflection in the mirror. “Lindsey wanted you to keep your eye on number seven.”

Melly smiled indulgently. “And who might number seven be?”

“Sean Rogers.” Lindsey fairly beamed. “He’s the quarterback. He’s sooo hot!”

“‘Hot’? Is that the word you young people use nowadays for ‘attractive’?”

I snapped
the compact shut, dropped it back into my purse. “Sean happens to be Lindsey’s crush of the month.”

“I think Sean is going to ask me to homecoming.” Lindsey took Casey’s leash from a hook on the wall and snapped it on his collar.

Melly gave a Lindsey another fond smile. “Then a new dress is in order. I foresee a trip to the mall in your future.”

I was struck in that moment by how much my daughter
resembled her grandmother. They shared the same eye color, had the same oval-shaped face, and fair skin. Melly, I’d heard, had been quite a heartbreaker in her prime. I might have been a trifle prejudiced, but my girl was as pretty as a picture.

Casey pranced about, his toenails making little clicking sounds on the heart pine floor. Lindsey reached down and petted him. “I want my dress for homecoming
to be amazing,” she said.

I remembered the prom dress fiasco last spring. I’d bought her a lovely pale pink confection at a bridal salon. One suitable for a Disney princess. Instead Lindsey, confident I wouldn’t make a scene, showed up at the last minute in a short strapless number Amber had selected. Pageant material, she’d informed me. Pageant, my foot, the skimpy little thing was more suitable
for clubbing.

Lindsey must’ve seen my scowl, because she hastened to assure me. “I won’t get anything you don’t approve of, Mom, but you have to promise you’ll try to be more with-it. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

I checked my purse to make sure I had my car keys. “Just because I prefer more fabric and less skin doesn’t make me old-fashioned. It makes me a mother.”

Melly smoothed her already
smooth pageboy. “We’d best be on our way, dear. It would be impolite to keep Chief McBride waiting.”

“Good luck, Meemaw.” Lindsey gave Melly a hug.

“Thank you, sweetheart. This is just a formality. It’s not as if I’m going to an execution.”

Lindsey headed off in one direction with Casey trotting alongside. Melly and I started in the other. Although it was only a short distance to the Brandywine
Creek Police Department, in view of Melly’s rather harrowing day, I’d elected to drive.

“CJ phoned to say he’s running late, but he’ll meet us there,” Melly said as she slid into the passenger seat of my kiwi green VW Beetle. “He said we’re to stall McBride until he gets there.”

“Peachy,” I muttered under my breath. Stalling McBride was like trying to halt the progress of a logging truck barreling
down the highway.

A few minutes later, I pulled into a parking slot reserved for visitors. I was happy to find Precious Blessing and not Dorinda behind the reception desk when we pushed through the double glass doors of the police department. Not that I have anything against Dorinda, she’s nice enough and all, but Precious is the sort who almost always wears a smile. I’d often thought her disposition
would be better suited for a Walmart greeter than as a welcoming committee for miscreants and felons.

“Hey, y’all.” Precious’s round, dark face beamed with good humor. Her black polo with its BCPD logo strained to contain her plus-size figure.

“Hey, yourself.” I smiled in return. “Will you let Chief McBride know we’re here?”

“He’s been waitin’ on you. Right now, he’s on the phone with the GBI.
Have a seat. He shouldn’t be long.”

Melly gingerly lowered herself onto one of the wooden benches that ringed the outer office. I settled next to her and picked up a dog-eared copy of
Car and Driver.

“Either of you care for a nice cup of coffee?” Precious asked. “Or I might could find a couple tea bags somewhere.”

Melly declined the offer. “Thank you, but no. My stomach’s been in knots ever
since finding that poor man in my basement.”

“Yes, ma’am. Must’ve been a shock.” Precious nodded so vigorously that the colorful beads woven into a dozen or more thin braids clacked together. “Times like this call for a change of subject. You plannin’ on goin’ to the fancy Oktoberfest party the Grangers are throwin’?”

Melly sniffed. “I am, but Piper hasn’t been invited.”

“I’m sure it’s an oversight,”
I added hastily. “My invitation probably got lost in the mail.”

“I hear tell it’s gonna be somethin’ else. Bigger even than Becca Dapkin’s funeral. My brother Zeke and his blues band are providin’ the entertainment. Sort of a jazzed-up oompah band.”