Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) by R. Franklin James Page A

Fields.”
    “Yeah, I know.” Mark sounded worried. “I took a look at the contents earlier.”
    “Still, not a problem. If anything is there, I’ll find it. But first I’ve got to get a filing out for George.” Hollis moved the box of letters to the side of her desk. “You focus on Transformation . I’ll work the background research. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
    “Sounds good, our number one goal is to get that continuance.”
    “And I’m going to contact Cathy’s mother to find out about the funeral and see if she needs anything. I’m hoping she’ll talk with me.”
    “Does she know you?”
    “I met her once with Cathy. It was only for a moment, though. I don’t think they were that close.”
    “I know it might be a difficult conversation , but it can’t hurt to see if she knows something.”
    Hollis frowned. “I’m not very good at these kinds of things.”
    “Don’t sound so worried,” Mark said.
    Her shoulders slumped. “I’ll call you later.”
     
    It took most of the afternoon to finish a case filing for George. Over the rest of the day she prepped two more files for his review; then she was ready to leave. The street lights had started to come on.
     
    At home she placed her keys on the entry table in the mouth of one of the porcelain frogs she inherited from her grandmother. She would shower, fix a small salad, and call it an evening.
    Walking heavily up the stairs, she stopped midway.
    A rush of tears blurred her sight, and she had to sit on the staircase and give in to her quaking shoulders and the unceasing ache in her chest.
    She said goodbye to her friend.

     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    H ollis dreaded making the phone call. She did as much desk work as she could until she couldn’t put it off any longer.
    “Mrs. Briscoe, my name is Hollis Morgan. I was a friend of Cathy’s .”
    Even over the wires, she heard the intake of a sob.
    “I’m sorry. I don’t know if you remember me? I wanted to know about the funeral and  ….” Hollis’ words were rushed. “I’m sorry. Maybe this is a bad time.”
    “No, no, it’s just that people keep calling. I didn’t know Cathy knew so many people. The funeral is on Wednesday, but I think I remember her bringing you by to meet me. You have an unusual name.” She broke into sobs again.
    “Mrs. Briscoe, Cathy and I were good friends. Is there something I can do to help?”
    “No, my sister is flying in today.” The thought seemed to calm her. “But thank you for your offer. I’m sorry I can’t seem to stop crying. It’s just that Cathy was a good daughter. I don’t know why anyone would kill her.” She blew her nose. “I’m sorry, why did you say you called?”
    “Mrs. Briscoe, did you say Cathy was killed?” She shifted the phone to her other ear.
    There was another sob. “Yes, the police said Cathy was drugged with sleeping pills before she was placed in the car.”
    Hollis frowned. “But she had a prescription …. She told me she hadn’t been able to sleep.”
    “I know, but last night the detective called and said the police report found another drug in addition to her own sleeping pills, another strong  … stronger ….” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”
    So Cathy was murdered.
    “No, Mrs. Briscoe , I need to apologize. I didn’t mean to bother you. Like I said, I wanted to offer my help and to come by and talk with you. Cathy came to see me the night before … the night before she died.”
    There was another sob.
    “This isn’t a good time. Mrs. Briscoe,” Hollis said. “I’ll contact you next week and—”
    “No , the funeral is Wednesday.” She took an audible breath. “I want to talk about her. No one wants to talk to me about her. Her father is too busy to come to his own daughter’s funeral. Says he can’t bear to see her in the … in the ground …. Her brother is in Afghanistan. I can’t reach him. Please, please I would like you to come and talk to me, a friend of Cathy’s.