Scrappily Ever After by Mollie Cox Bryan Page A

sure I like the sound of that, coming from a woman who just said no to mine.”
    â€œLet’s move in together,” she said. “I think that’s a good way for us to be together to sort of try things out.”
    His chin came up a bit and his face reddened. “Vera, I want to give you everything. The whole package.”
    â€œI know and I want that too. But I need more time. Please. Won’t you shack up with me?” she said and grinned.
    â€œI’d do anything for you. When can you move in?” he asked with more than a gleam in his eyes.
    â€œTomorrow,” Beatrice said. Vera hadn’t realized that her mom and Jon had been standing there listening. “She can move in tomorrow. And for the record you have my blessing. After all, look what shacking up got me,” Beatrice said, and she poked at a grinning, beaming Jon.

Acknowledgements
    Very special thanks to Amber Benson for her beta read over the holidays. As always, I’d like to thank my editor, Martin Biro, and my agent, Sharon Bowers, both steadfast believers in my writing and fabulous founts of advice and knowledge. To my readers: thanks so much with all my heart. More to come!
    Much Love,
Mollie

Keep reading for a special sneak peek of
Mollie Cox Bryan’s
    SCRAPBOOK OF THE DEAD
    A Kensington mass-market paperback
and e-book on sale October 2015!
    C hapter 1
    She hadn’t shown up for work a few days in a row. Had she been in the sub-zero room that whole time, slowly freezing to death?
    â€œWith these immigrants, you just never know,” Pamela said. “They are hard workers, but sometimes things go wrong.” She wrung her hands, which were white with the tension.
    â€œWhat do you mean by that?” The sheriff placed his hands on his hips, as camera flashes went off. The crime scene technicians buzzed around the room.
    Annie stood with her arm wrapped around Randy, who was trembling—but her recorder pointed toward the sheriff and Pamela, owner of Pamela’s Pie Palace, where the body of a young woman had just been found.
    â€œI mean sometimes they just take off, disappear. Who knows where they go or why? Just last week, one of them disappeared, never showed up for work, and I couldn’t reach her,” Pamela said, her voice quivering.
    Randy had discovered the frozen body early this morning. He’d called the police, then Pamela, then Annie. After that, he’d begun to fall apart. When Annie first walked in, she had barely recognized him because he was so pale.
    â€œMaybe they go back home? Maybe they find another job?” Pamela flung her arms out.
    Annie wished she could make an educated guess—but she didn’t know many of the local foreign population. Foreign to Cumberland Creek, anyway. In fact, she was surprised to hear there even was an immigrant population in the small town.
    â€œShe was legal, right?” the sheriff asked, leaning in toward Pamela, but Annie heard every word. A big man, Sheriff Ted Bixby sported a twisty mustache that looked like it belonged on a Spanish conquistador, not a sheriff from a small county in Virginia.
    â€œAbsolutely,” Pamela replied, her jaw stiff.
    Nobody should look that good at 5 AM , not even Pamela, Queen of Pie, wife of the wealthy Evan Kraft. Pamela always looked as if she’d stepped right out of the pages of a 1940s pinup calendar. Curvy did not begin to describe her figure. And she was not afraid to show it off.
    â€œI need to see the victim’s papers,” Sheriff Bixby said, more to his deputy than to Pamela. “In fact, I need to see all of them. All of the papers for every damned one of them.”
    Annie didn’t like his tone when he said the word “them.” But she’d gotten used to the “white men of a certain age” attitude about some things—like foreigners. In this part of Virginia, they seemed to be ignored, treated with suspicion, or made fun of. She had bit