and this new waitress, Marcy, couldn’t keep our orders straight. Naturally we asked about Vera.”
“Naturally.”
I ignored the thinly veiled sarcasm. “All Marcy could say was that Vera ‘up and left.’ It isn’t like a woman of a certain age to just walk away from a perfectly good job when tips alone would make her want to stay.”
“Does this Vera have a last name?”
Sheriff Wiggins waited, pen poised, while I pondered his question. I was reminded how very little I knew about the woman who served me breakfast two or three times a week. “I’m sure Vera does have a last name, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it,” I admitted slowly, then brightened. “Surely the folks who hired her can tell you.”
“And you think I need to check into the matter because . . . ?” He paused, leaving me to fill in the blank.
“Because . . .” The man was trying my patience. He could, at the very least, pretend to be a teensy bit grateful for the information. I read the news. I watch TV. The police are always asking concerned citizens to step forward.
“Because,” I began anew, “the arm we found yesterday belongs to someone. I believe it’s proper police procedure to account for anyone who might be missing. Especially those missing under rather mysterious circumstances.”
“Don’t mean to be disrespectful, ma’am, but what makes you an expert on police procedure?”
“Because I’ve watched every single episode of Law & Order , that’s why,” I fired back.
My retort left him at a momentary loss. Sheriff Sumter Wiggins certainly failed to measure up to Law & Order ’s Detective Lennie Briscoe when it came to witty repartee. First Nancy Drew, now Law & Order . I could see by the expression on the sheriff’s face that he wasn’t taking me seriously. How hard could it be to track down a couple of missing women who had gone AWOL? I bet I could do it myself if I set my mind to it. I had half a notion to do just that.
“If that’s all . . .”
It didn’t take a ton of bricks to hit me over the head. I can tell when I’m not wanted. I got to my feet and slung my purse over my shoulder. The sheriff rose as well. Apparently his mama drilled good manners into her boy—if not a sunny disposition.
“Enjoy the cookies, Sheriff. Chocolate chip are my specialty.”
“Kind of you, ma’am, but I don’t eat cookies.”
Doesn’t eat cookies? That stopped me dead in my tracks. What kind of person doesn’t eat cookies? Not even Connie Sue, who watches her weight like a hawk, has that much willpower. Clearly the man wasn’t human.
I could feel my cheeks burn as I marched past Tammy Lynn and out the front door. Sheriff Sumter Wiggins was insufferable. My meeting with him had definitely gotten off on the wrong foot.
Or in this case—pardon the pun—on the wrong arm.
Chapter 8
The whole town was still buzzing the next day when I ducked into the Piggly Wiggly. And I don’t mean just Serenity Cove Estates, but Brookdale as well. Brookdale happens to be the county seat and, as the crow flies, is the town closest to Serenity. It’s not very big as towns go, but one can find the essentials of life situated around the town square. In addition to the ubiquitous Chinese and Mexican restaurants, there’s a quaint little tearoom, a video store that doubles as a nail/tanning salon, a used-book store, and a couple of antiques shops. Flanking the square like nineteenth-century bookends are the county courthouse at one end and the opera house at the other. Cute and quaint. Brookdale could double as a set for a Disney movie.
If I get a hankering to visit a mall, I hop in the Buick and drive another twenty-five miles or so down the road. I have to admit I don’t hanker as much as I did when I was younger. Malls, it seems, have lost their luster. If that’s a sign of aging, then so be it.
In an area where a hole in one makes headlines, finding a body part is huge . Everywhere I went, it’s all people were
“Naturally.”
I ignored the thinly veiled sarcasm. “All Marcy could say was that Vera ‘up and left.’ It isn’t like a woman of a certain age to just walk away from a perfectly good job when tips alone would make her want to stay.”
“Does this Vera have a last name?”
Sheriff Wiggins waited, pen poised, while I pondered his question. I was reminded how very little I knew about the woman who served me breakfast two or three times a week. “I’m sure Vera does have a last name, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it,” I admitted slowly, then brightened. “Surely the folks who hired her can tell you.”
“And you think I need to check into the matter because . . . ?” He paused, leaving me to fill in the blank.
“Because . . .” The man was trying my patience. He could, at the very least, pretend to be a teensy bit grateful for the information. I read the news. I watch TV. The police are always asking concerned citizens to step forward.
“Because,” I began anew, “the arm we found yesterday belongs to someone. I believe it’s proper police procedure to account for anyone who might be missing. Especially those missing under rather mysterious circumstances.”
“Don’t mean to be disrespectful, ma’am, but what makes you an expert on police procedure?”
“Because I’ve watched every single episode of Law & Order , that’s why,” I fired back.
My retort left him at a momentary loss. Sheriff Sumter Wiggins certainly failed to measure up to Law & Order ’s Detective Lennie Briscoe when it came to witty repartee. First Nancy Drew, now Law & Order . I could see by the expression on the sheriff’s face that he wasn’t taking me seriously. How hard could it be to track down a couple of missing women who had gone AWOL? I bet I could do it myself if I set my mind to it. I had half a notion to do just that.
“If that’s all . . .”
It didn’t take a ton of bricks to hit me over the head. I can tell when I’m not wanted. I got to my feet and slung my purse over my shoulder. The sheriff rose as well. Apparently his mama drilled good manners into her boy—if not a sunny disposition.
“Enjoy the cookies, Sheriff. Chocolate chip are my specialty.”
“Kind of you, ma’am, but I don’t eat cookies.”
Doesn’t eat cookies? That stopped me dead in my tracks. What kind of person doesn’t eat cookies? Not even Connie Sue, who watches her weight like a hawk, has that much willpower. Clearly the man wasn’t human.
I could feel my cheeks burn as I marched past Tammy Lynn and out the front door. Sheriff Sumter Wiggins was insufferable. My meeting with him had definitely gotten off on the wrong foot.
Or in this case—pardon the pun—on the wrong arm.
Chapter 8
The whole town was still buzzing the next day when I ducked into the Piggly Wiggly. And I don’t mean just Serenity Cove Estates, but Brookdale as well. Brookdale happens to be the county seat and, as the crow flies, is the town closest to Serenity. It’s not very big as towns go, but one can find the essentials of life situated around the town square. In addition to the ubiquitous Chinese and Mexican restaurants, there’s a quaint little tearoom, a video store that doubles as a nail/tanning salon, a used-book store, and a couple of antiques shops. Flanking the square like nineteenth-century bookends are the county courthouse at one end and the opera house at the other. Cute and quaint. Brookdale could double as a set for a Disney movie.
If I get a hankering to visit a mall, I hop in the Buick and drive another twenty-five miles or so down the road. I have to admit I don’t hanker as much as I did when I was younger. Malls, it seems, have lost their luster. If that’s a sign of aging, then so be it.
In an area where a hole in one makes headlines, finding a body part is huge . Everywhere I went, it’s all people were
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