Diana Anderson - Entering Southern Country 01 - Famous in a Small Town by Diana Anderson

“Very well, I’m listening.” She could be polite and offer him a seat, a drink, coffee, tea, or whatever, but she declined her inner politeness. She wanted him to tell her what he’d come to say and then leave.
    “The crime scene, Virgil’s and Wanda’s trailer, is all clear for you to enter. I suggest you get someone in there to clean it up before you go inside. It’s not a pleasant sight.”
    “Wanda? Who’s Wanda?”
    “Your dad’s wife.” He eyed her puzzled.
    She looked away for a moment. “Does she have family?”
    He shook his head. “Just you.”
    She looked down at the floor and realized that it was up to her to handle not only Virgil’s funeral arrangements but his wife’s too—everything. She didn’t want to go into their house. She didn’t want to deal with that part of her past that was sure to rear its ugly head the moment she stepped foot into it. She surmised Virgil had bills that would need to be taken care of along with his property and their belongings. She sighed, and the weight on her shoulders grew heavier and heavier.
    “Also,” he waited for her to look at him once more.
    She looked up. He looked an inch or two taller than she remembered. His sandy blonde, wavy hair was shorter than it had been in high school. His facial features were no longer youthful but mature and his body more muscular. Something in his eyes looked different, but she didn’t know what that might be, and she didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.
    “Virgil has a dog chained up behind his house. Do you want him, or shall I call the animal control to come pick him up?”
    A dog? What am I going to do with a dog? “What will the animal shelter do with him?”
    “They try to find homes for all the strays and unwanted animals.”
    “Oh, well then—”
    “But not all find homes and those that don’t, after a short period of time, get euthanized. They don’t have the funds to keep all of the animals fed for an extended stay. So the ones that have been there the longest are the first ones to go.”
    She looked away a moment, her conscience ate away at her. Her eyes went back to his the moment he spoke.
    “I’ve got to warn you. I highly doubt that dog will find a home.”
    Knowing Virgil—he had taken care of the animal as he’d taken care of all the animals he’d ever had. He hadn’t. When she had lived there, she took care of them. Fed and watered them and trained them to not bark to avoid Virgil’s wrath. She’d picked ticks off of them, bathed them, and had given them the love and attention she’d never received. She pictured the animal emaciated, mange eaten, and crippled from one of Virgil’s lead footed kicks. But if she took him, she could get him to a vet and revive him to good health, and maybe someone would want him. However, that would take time. Time she didn’t want to spend in this place.
    “What … what’s wrong with him?” she asked.
    Cal shrugged and looked away in thought as if he pictured the animal. “He’s eaten up with ticks and fleas. I doubt he’s ever had a bath or seen a vet, so he probably needs vaccinations. He doesn’t look too worse for the wear. Looks like he’s been kept fed.”
    She almost smiled at that but caught herself as she remembered who stood in front of her. “I’ll take care of it. Has anyone fed him since … ?”
    “I went by there this evening and checked on him. Gave him some food and fresh water.”
    She nodded a thank you. “Is that all, Sheriff?”
    He studied her a moment. “That’s it.” He turned to go.
    “Do you have any clues who murdered Vir … my father?”
    He turned back and shook his head. “I’m sorry.” As an afterthought, he reached into his pocket and then held out his hand toward her.
    She hesitated.
    “The key to the trailer. It’s been padlocked to help keep scavengers out.”
    She held out her hand, palm up, and left him no other alternative but to drop it there. He walked toward the