Stone Cold Crazy (Lil & Boris #4) (Lil and Boris Mysteries) by Shannon Hill Page A

is technically the county,” I warned him. “County appointed me special investigator.”
    “Understood.” He put out a hand. The one with the paperwork. I took it, then shook the hand. “Can you recommend a restaurant? A hotel?”
    I didn’t quite bust out laughing in his face. “We’ve got one of each. You might want to stay next county over anyway. You’ll have enough trouble with locals watching your every move.”
    “Point taken. Food?”
    “Old Mill’s good, there’s a café down in Gilfoyle that does a little more upscale.”
    He wrote that down, handed me a card. I gave him mine. Then he and Agent Newsome left.
    “Damn feds,” Tom growled once the door closed. A second later, he added a shamed, “Sorry.”
    I sat down at the computer and started typing up my notes. If I was going to lose my case to the feds, I’d at least hand them the best notes they’d ever seen.

6.
    W e were busy the next few days. The bombing had the town more nuts than usual, which takes some doing, believe me.
    Blanche Marshall over on Sixth got a sudden case of the vapors, most of which seemed to be coming off her not-just-iced-tea, and called sixteen times to report a prowler that was, in fact, the wind moving in the lilacs.
    Tammy Lynn Brady, one of Maury’s secretaries over at Morse Sanitation, suffered a case of the heebie-jeebies when she found what she insisted was a pipe bomb in the shrubbery, and I spent half an hour calming her down even when it turned out to be nothing more menacing than a piece of old gutter sticking out of the azaleas.
    Then, Saturday morning, Ronnie Lincoln’s very old pickup backfired going down Main, and Hiram Fuller, Andy Shifflett, and Joe Brady all rushed into traffic wielding, respectively, a shotgun, a thirty-ought, and a damn AK-47. Which, as you can imagine, caused a fairly epic traffic jam, and an involuntary bowel movement in Travis Murray over at the liquor store.
    After that, I don’t mind saying my hands shook clear up to my teeth.
    At the end of my shift, I sprawled in my new hammock. Roger had put it up for me. I was learning to enjoy lying there in the shade with Boris on my stomach, an iced lemonade to hand. There was something relaxing about staring up at the underside of branches. Peaceful. Restful. Blissful solitude. Recuperation from the day.
    “Lil!”
    I shot upright.
    Never ever try to sit upright in a hammock. Not without safety rails.
    Steve sauntered up, grinning. Boris hissed.
    Good kitty.
    “You dumbass,” I said without too much rancor, “you could’ve got shot.”
    He spread his hands wide. “I come in peace.”
    “Damn near left in pieces,” I snapped and stayed put in the hammock because it is physically impossible to look graceful getting out of a hammock unless you’re an Olympic gymnast. “What do you want, Steve? I’m off-duty here.”
    He leaned against a tree. Pine. Dripping pungent resin in the heat. I decided not to tell him what was getting on his overpriced polo shirt. “Thought I’d come play nice, ask you to dinner. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
    News to me. “I’ve got plans.”
    “Doing what? Microwave pizza?”
    I smiled sweetly. “You always sucked at interrogation.”
    He flushed, finally dropped the grin. “Look, Lil, you rate high with your cousin, and he’s making big mistakes on this project. You gotta talk to him. He won’t hear me.”
    Good for Jack. I kept smiling as sweetly as possible. “I respect my cousin’s judgment.”
    “He respects yours.”
    I chose honesty, since it’s often quicker. “I’m not getting in the middle. Bye, Steve.”
    “Lil, he’ll lose…” Steve stopped, peeled himself off the pine tree, and gestured energetically. “He really wants to save this town. He’s planning on loans…‌Lil, do you have any idea how insane his loan idea is?”
    I flopped back into my hammock. “Nope.” I put up a hand to steady Boris as he clambered onto my stomach again. “And I don’t want