Gone to Ground by Brandilyn Collins Page A
Authors: Brandilyn Collins
Tags: Christian - Suspense
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lice, where'd he learn bout the brownies? Just went to show I couldn't possibly think through everthing regardin these murders.
"Please, Mrs. Devine."
I was in over my head. Who was I to try to fix this case?
"Just say yes or no."
"Tell you what. I answer this one question, you got to answer mine."
"Deal."
"Okay then. Yes."
A pause. "What time?"
"What time ?"
"When did she eat her last brownie?"
"That's two questions."
"Come on, Mrs. Devine, it's important."
My mind spun back. Hadn't Chief Cotter wondered the same thing? As I remembered, Erika stuffed a brownie in her mouth bout the time I got up to go. "I guess around 10:00."
"Great. Thank you very much."
"Uh-huh." I blinked myself back to the present. "Trent, don't you go puttin my name in your article, you hear?"
"I'll let you remain anonymous, I promise."
"All right. Now my question." How to say it without givin anything away? "In all your talkin to people, you notice anybody not able to account for where they was durin the murders?"
"I wish. Maybe that'd get us somewhere. You thinking about someone in particular?"
I knew I shouldn't a said anything. Now I had to lie. Lord, forgive me. "No."
"You sure?"
"Can't a body just wonder somethin?"
"Sure. Okay." Trent didn't sound convinced.
"I really got to go now."
"Please call me if you think of anything else? If you have some thought, maybe I can help run it down for you."
If he only knew. "Okay, Trent. Bye now." I hung up the phone before he could say another word.
For a long time I sat at the kitchen table lookin out the back window. Why did Trent want to know bout them brownies?
Wish I hadn't answered his question. Somehowâdidn't quite know how yetâthat was gon get me in trouble.
One thing I did know. Next time I took to wantin to bake for somebody I was gon think twice. Never know what kind a mess it could get you in.
Chapter 10
Deena
At 5:30 I finished with the day's last customer. Betsy Luvall's gray hair was perfectly coifed for another week. My head ached, my feet hurt, and my mind turned like a whirlwind. I waited with Betsy while her husband came to get herâhe wouldn't let his wife go anywhere by herself, even in the daytime. Then I locked the door while I counted the day's money.
I wished I could go home and be alone. After a day's work I was always talked out. People thought I could chatter forever. That it came naturally. They were wrong. Unless I was nervous, talkin was simply a part of my business. Folks expect it from their hair stylist.
But Trent Williams had called an hour ago, wantin to see me. For him it was part work, part date. Let him dream on. I saw it as an opportunity to gather information. Had anyone seen my brother, or an unknown figure, runnin through the cemetery or down our street? Or worse yet, comin to my door. Chances were good no one had seen a thing. The streets of Amaryllis always did roll up tight after dark, even before the murders started.
Still, what would I do if someone had seen Stevie? If he hadn't given me an innocent reason for bein covered in blood, he sure wouldn't come up with one for anyone else. Chief Cotter would throw my brother in the slammer and grin while doin it. So would John. Amaryllis folks wanted these murders solved. How easy it would beâfinallyâto pin em on the town "half-wit."
But what if my brother was to blame?
I let myself out of the salon, makin double sure the door was locked. I slipped into my car, parked out front on Main, and drove the five blocks to my house. Supper wouldn't be anything fancy. I told Trent I had some leftover spaghetti sauceâtake it or leave it.
Since Trent had come down from Jackson to cover our first murder in Amaryllis, we'd sort of teamed up. He knew I cut about all the white folks' hair in town. (The blacks went to my friend Rochelle's salon. Nothin racial about it. I just didn't have the trainin or equipment to do black hair.) And the white folks who weren't my clients
"Please, Mrs. Devine."
I was in over my head. Who was I to try to fix this case?
"Just say yes or no."
"Tell you what. I answer this one question, you got to answer mine."
"Deal."
"Okay then. Yes."
A pause. "What time?"
"What time ?"
"When did she eat her last brownie?"
"That's two questions."
"Come on, Mrs. Devine, it's important."
My mind spun back. Hadn't Chief Cotter wondered the same thing? As I remembered, Erika stuffed a brownie in her mouth bout the time I got up to go. "I guess around 10:00."
"Great. Thank you very much."
"Uh-huh." I blinked myself back to the present. "Trent, don't you go puttin my name in your article, you hear?"
"I'll let you remain anonymous, I promise."
"All right. Now my question." How to say it without givin anything away? "In all your talkin to people, you notice anybody not able to account for where they was durin the murders?"
"I wish. Maybe that'd get us somewhere. You thinking about someone in particular?"
I knew I shouldn't a said anything. Now I had to lie. Lord, forgive me. "No."
"You sure?"
"Can't a body just wonder somethin?"
"Sure. Okay." Trent didn't sound convinced.
"I really got to go now."
"Please call me if you think of anything else? If you have some thought, maybe I can help run it down for you."
If he only knew. "Okay, Trent. Bye now." I hung up the phone before he could say another word.
For a long time I sat at the kitchen table lookin out the back window. Why did Trent want to know bout them brownies?
Wish I hadn't answered his question. Somehowâdidn't quite know how yetâthat was gon get me in trouble.
One thing I did know. Next time I took to wantin to bake for somebody I was gon think twice. Never know what kind a mess it could get you in.
Chapter 10
Deena
At 5:30 I finished with the day's last customer. Betsy Luvall's gray hair was perfectly coifed for another week. My head ached, my feet hurt, and my mind turned like a whirlwind. I waited with Betsy while her husband came to get herâhe wouldn't let his wife go anywhere by herself, even in the daytime. Then I locked the door while I counted the day's money.
I wished I could go home and be alone. After a day's work I was always talked out. People thought I could chatter forever. That it came naturally. They were wrong. Unless I was nervous, talkin was simply a part of my business. Folks expect it from their hair stylist.
But Trent Williams had called an hour ago, wantin to see me. For him it was part work, part date. Let him dream on. I saw it as an opportunity to gather information. Had anyone seen my brother, or an unknown figure, runnin through the cemetery or down our street? Or worse yet, comin to my door. Chances were good no one had seen a thing. The streets of Amaryllis always did roll up tight after dark, even before the murders started.
Still, what would I do if someone had seen Stevie? If he hadn't given me an innocent reason for bein covered in blood, he sure wouldn't come up with one for anyone else. Chief Cotter would throw my brother in the slammer and grin while doin it. So would John. Amaryllis folks wanted these murders solved. How easy it would beâfinallyâto pin em on the town "half-wit."
But what if my brother was to blame?
I let myself out of the salon, makin double sure the door was locked. I slipped into my car, parked out front on Main, and drove the five blocks to my house. Supper wouldn't be anything fancy. I told Trent I had some leftover spaghetti sauceâtake it or leave it.
Since Trent had come down from Jackson to cover our first murder in Amaryllis, we'd sort of teamed up. He knew I cut about all the white folks' hair in town. (The blacks went to my friend Rochelle's salon. Nothin racial about it. I just didn't have the trainin or equipment to do black hair.) And the white folks who weren't my clients
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