the hardware store.
Back inside, Daisy waved me over to a dining table. She sported a new super-short haircut, and she had opted to dye her hair a soft reddish color this time instead of her usual ash brown. Daisy was a small woman, and the new hairstyle suited her.
“Appreciate your helping Mrs. Krane,” she said. “I took the liberty of serving your usual. Hope that’s okay.”
The plate on the table held a sliced-beef barbeque sandwich on a homemade bun with a container of sauce on the side for dipping and a small dish of mustard potato salad.
I grinned. “Perfect.”
“Heard about the man in the river,” she said. “Bad business. Mind if I join you for a minute?”
“Pull up a chair.” We often visited over a meal.
“Give me a sec to grab us some Cokes.”
“Takin’ five, Mitch,” she hollered to her husband, who wouldn’t complain if she took five hours off from working in the kitchen. Mitch, the polar opposite of his wife size-wise, was always saying she worked too hard. They were good together, and I envied their cheerful, easygoing relationship.
I dipped the edge of my sandwich in the sauce and took a big bite, savoring the tangy flavor. Daisy returned with two extra-large drinks.
“Is Rowe doing all right?” She slid into a chair across from me. “I understand the man who died was her cousin.”
At least the grapevine didn’t know about Bobby Joe’s claim of being Aunt Rowe’s brother. Yet. “She’s okay, I guess. She’s not saying much.”
“Probably better that way. Last thing she needs is for the press to blow this whole thing out of proportion.”
The press? Here in Lavender?
The town newspaper was printed once a month and consisted mostly of advertisements.
“I wasn’t even thinking about news coverage,” I said. “If this makes the paper, it’d be one of those teensy articles.” I indicated a little square with my fingers.
“The paper? Girl, we’re in the Internet age. They connect stories from decades ago to current events all the time. I’ll bet this is one of those times.”
“Decades ago?” I said around a mouthful of creamy potato salad.
Daisy nodded. “It’ll be one of those history-repeats-itself pieces. Except the first time it was a girl; now it’s a man.”
I put my fork down. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Daisy sat back in her chair. “Well, I thought surely Rowe would have mentioned this to you now even if you never heard about it way back when ’cause you were a kid. I was in middle school at the time.”
I held out my hands, palms up. “Mentioned what?”
“That girl who was murdered ’bout thirty years ago. Vicki Palmer.”
“I never heard of Vicki Palmer. Who was she?”
“A teenager living here in Lavender. They found her body in the Glidden River right about the spot where you found Bobby Joe Flowers. Dollars to donuts this is right up the alley of whoever writes those news stories I see on Yahoo.com.”
7
“ W HO SAYS BOBBY Joe Flowers was murdered?” I asked Daisy even though I’d been pretty much assuming that someone actually
had
murdered the man.
“Clete Lester’s brother was one of the EMS techs at the scene,” she said. “Told Clete somebody took a chunk out of Flowers’s head, wound was shaped like the edge of a shovel.” She cupped her right hand slightly and ran the index finger of her left along the curved pinkie-finger side. “Like this.”
I winced and pushed my plate away from me. There went my last hope that Bobby Joe accidentally clunked his head on a rock and died.
“You know how head injuries bleed,” Daisy said. “He probably didn’t last long after he got hit.”
I tried to block the image she was painting, but I could feel the color drain from my face. My skin felt clammy.
“Doggone,” Daisy said. “Here I am running my mouth about a murder while you’re trying to eat.” She touched my hand. “You okay?”
“Sure. Fine.” I didn’t want Daisy to realize how
Back inside, Daisy waved me over to a dining table. She sported a new super-short haircut, and she had opted to dye her hair a soft reddish color this time instead of her usual ash brown. Daisy was a small woman, and the new hairstyle suited her.
“Appreciate your helping Mrs. Krane,” she said. “I took the liberty of serving your usual. Hope that’s okay.”
The plate on the table held a sliced-beef barbeque sandwich on a homemade bun with a container of sauce on the side for dipping and a small dish of mustard potato salad.
I grinned. “Perfect.”
“Heard about the man in the river,” she said. “Bad business. Mind if I join you for a minute?”
“Pull up a chair.” We often visited over a meal.
“Give me a sec to grab us some Cokes.”
“Takin’ five, Mitch,” she hollered to her husband, who wouldn’t complain if she took five hours off from working in the kitchen. Mitch, the polar opposite of his wife size-wise, was always saying she worked too hard. They were good together, and I envied their cheerful, easygoing relationship.
I dipped the edge of my sandwich in the sauce and took a big bite, savoring the tangy flavor. Daisy returned with two extra-large drinks.
“Is Rowe doing all right?” She slid into a chair across from me. “I understand the man who died was her cousin.”
At least the grapevine didn’t know about Bobby Joe’s claim of being Aunt Rowe’s brother. Yet. “She’s okay, I guess. She’s not saying much.”
“Probably better that way. Last thing she needs is for the press to blow this whole thing out of proportion.”
The press? Here in Lavender?
The town newspaper was printed once a month and consisted mostly of advertisements.
“I wasn’t even thinking about news coverage,” I said. “If this makes the paper, it’d be one of those teensy articles.” I indicated a little square with my fingers.
“The paper? Girl, we’re in the Internet age. They connect stories from decades ago to current events all the time. I’ll bet this is one of those times.”
“Decades ago?” I said around a mouthful of creamy potato salad.
Daisy nodded. “It’ll be one of those history-repeats-itself pieces. Except the first time it was a girl; now it’s a man.”
I put my fork down. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Daisy sat back in her chair. “Well, I thought surely Rowe would have mentioned this to you now even if you never heard about it way back when ’cause you were a kid. I was in middle school at the time.”
I held out my hands, palms up. “Mentioned what?”
“That girl who was murdered ’bout thirty years ago. Vicki Palmer.”
“I never heard of Vicki Palmer. Who was she?”
“A teenager living here in Lavender. They found her body in the Glidden River right about the spot where you found Bobby Joe Flowers. Dollars to donuts this is right up the alley of whoever writes those news stories I see on Yahoo.com.”
7
“ W HO SAYS BOBBY Joe Flowers was murdered?” I asked Daisy even though I’d been pretty much assuming that someone actually
had
murdered the man.
“Clete Lester’s brother was one of the EMS techs at the scene,” she said. “Told Clete somebody took a chunk out of Flowers’s head, wound was shaped like the edge of a shovel.” She cupped her right hand slightly and ran the index finger of her left along the curved pinkie-finger side. “Like this.”
I winced and pushed my plate away from me. There went my last hope that Bobby Joe accidentally clunked his head on a rock and died.
“You know how head injuries bleed,” Daisy said. “He probably didn’t last long after he got hit.”
I tried to block the image she was painting, but I could feel the color drain from my face. My skin felt clammy.
“Doggone,” Daisy said. “Here I am running my mouth about a murder while you’re trying to eat.” She touched my hand. “You okay?”
“Sure. Fine.” I didn’t want Daisy to realize how
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