Don't Cry by Beverly Barton Page B

each other again soon had been more than she’d gotten from her father during their brief conversation. Her dad had mentioned how pretty her dress was and told her he was glad to see her. But he hadn’t looked her in the eye, hadn’t smiled at her, and certainly hadn’t hugged her. She had asked how he was enjoying his retirement and he’d mentioned that he was doing a lot of fishing. Audrey couldn’t remember one time in her thirty-four years that she and her father had ever had a meaningful conversation.
    Enough introspection, especially this early in the morning.
    She might as well get up. There wasn’t much chance she’d go back to sleep. She needed her morning cup of hot tea, something she looked forward to every day.
    After a quick trip to the bathroom, Audrey headed for the kitchen. She filled the white enamel kettle with fresh water and placed it on the Jenn-Air range to heat. A hint of daylight peeked through the closed blinds of her Walnut Hill town house as she padded around on the Brazilian cherry hardwood floor, set out her favorite teacup on the granite countertop, and removed a bag of Earl Grey from the maple cupboard. If anything, Audrey was a creature of habit. She lived her life on a flexible schedule, appreciating the peace that the familiar gave her on a daily basis.
    As a child, she had experienced enough drama to last her a lifetime. She supposed that was why she craved normalcy, why she chose to live a quiet, uneventful life. Beginning with her parents’ divorce, her childhood had been riddled with tragedy. Only a year after her parents’ bitter divorce when she was five, her mother had been killed in a car wreck when a drunk driver swerved into oncoming traffic. Then her baby brother Blake—her father’s pride and joy—had mysteriously disappeared. And a few months later, her distraught stepmother had committed suicide.
    Just as Audrey opened the blinds to let in the morning light, the kettle whistled and the phone rang. On her way to take the kettle off the stove, she grabbed the portable phone and hit the On button without checking caller ID. It was barely six o’clock, so odds were that the caller had bad news.
    â€œHello.” Audrey tipped the kettle and poured boiling hot water into her tea cup.
    â€œAudrey, this is Don Hardy.”
    Why is the mayor calling me? “Good morning, Mayor Hardy.” She set the kettle on the counter and dunked her tea bag down into the steaming water.
    â€œMy wife is going to need you this morning,” he said. “Can you come to our house as soon as possible?”
    â€œYes, sir, but I don’t understand. Why does—?”
    â€œI just got off the phone with Sergeant Hudson. He thinks they’ve found my wife’s cousin, Debra.”
    Audrey swallowed. Instinctively she knew without asking that the police had not found Debra Gregory alive.
    â€œI see. It’s not good news.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI’m so sorry.”
    â€œOur worst fears have been confirmed,” Don Hardy said. “Sergeant Hudson was on the scene when he called me. A passerby on his way to work just happened to see something he thought was odd and called the police. The officers first on the scene found a dead woman sitting in an old, broken rocking chair at an illegal dump site out in Soddy-Daisy.”
    â€œAnd Garth believes the woman is your wife’s cousin?”
    â€œYes. She fits the general description, and your uncle said that she looks exactly like the photo the police have of Debra. If it is Debra, and I’m pretty sure it is, Janice is going to fall apart. They were very close. Debra was like a kid sister to my wife.”
    â€œDo you want me to come to your home or—?” Audrey asked.
    â€œYes, please, as soon as possible. I…uh…I haven’t told Janice yet, but I can’t put it off much longer. I’ll have to leave her to go ID the body.