Laid Out and Candle Lit Read online

  LAID OUT

  AND

  CANDLE LIT

  Ann Everett

  Raven’s Wing Books

  Peterborough, NH

  * * * * *

  Laid Out And Candle Lit

  Ann Everett

  Published by Briona Glen Publishing LLC at Amazon

  Copyright 2011, Ann Everett. All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without the written permission of the copyright owner or the publisher.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipe contained in this book is to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipe contained in this book.

  Kindle (mobi)

  ISBN-10 161807007X

  ISBN-13 9781618070074

  Nook (ePub)

  ISBN-10 1618070088

  ISBN-13 9781618070081

  Generic (PDF)

  ISBN-10 1618070096

  ISBN-13 9781618070098

  Cover and Interior Design: Pamela Marin-Kingsley, Far-Angel Design

  Ravens’ Wing Books

  an imprint of Briona Glen Publishing LLC

  ATTN: Customer Service

  PO Box 3285

  Peterborough, NH 03458-3285

  Email: [email protected]

  http://www.brionaglen.com

  * * * * *

  THIS BOOK IS FOR MY HUSBAND,TOM,

  WHO LETS ME WRITE WITHOUT COMPLAINING . . . MUCH.

  * * * * *

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The creation of this novel could not have been possible without the required assistance of so many. My heartfelt thanks goes out to the following individuals, as well as those who have not been named, but have made this publication possible.

  First and foremost, to my husband, Tom, who lets me write without complaining. As well as to my friends and family, who have supported me with love along the way.

  A special thanks to Nancy Demarco, for suggesting I submit my manuscript to Briona Glen Publishing, LLC. To Brandy Fisher for the photo. And to Dr. D. P. Lyle, for answering the various medical questions I’ve had during this process.

  To my fellow authors and review partners for critiquing this book from start to finish, and never pulling any punches. They include, but are not limited to: Nicholas Andrews, Maggie Banks, Nathan B. Childs, John DeBoer, Nancy DeMarco, Irene Hamilton, John Hamler, Dennis Hart, Larry Holcombe, C.E.Jones, Joss Landry, Amy Metz, Tim Mallory, Madison Ready, and Bobbye Terry.

  And to my publisher, of course, the hardworking crew at Briona Glen (www.brionaglen.com) for their support and unwavering dedication: Tammy Andrew, Jason Reilly, Dana Blythe and Wil Birch. And of course, Pamela Marin-Kingsley for her work creating the best cover and book design imaginable.

  To the ladies of Sweet Thangs, Pattiecake and Sugarpie for letting me include the Chocolate Coconut Pecan Pie recipe.

  Last, but certainly not least, to you the reader for taking the time to discover my novel. The characters, Tizzy, Ridge, Sugarpie and Pattiecake, have populated my imagination for many years. I hope they will become part of your life, too, filling you with giggles and suspense.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Not only did Tizzy Donovan think her cup was always half empty, she was pretty sure someone had spit in it.

  The last leg of her daily jog took her through Jenkins Cemetery. She stopped and breathed in the scent of freshly mowed grass and the musk of fertile earth. It was spring, and she should have a bounce in her step. But the approaching anniversary of Boone’s death pushed any sense of renewal away. To become a widow and single mother before the age of twenty-five had certainly not been in her plans.

  She closed her eyes and willed the notions away. Many believed her ritual morbid. But to her, it remained a chance to start the day among people she loved most in her life. She didn’t consider the departed as eerie or macabre. She thought of them as peaceful. All the pain, suffering, disappointment, grief and demands of living were over. Granted, so was the earthly joy, but she believed the afterlife held much greater happiness. That is, unless you ended up in hell.

  She inhaled sharply, feeling strangely alive among those who were no longer of this world. Her muscles eased as she reverently moved past the headstones.

  Even though many of the dead had spoken to her for years, not one had ever appeared to her. But this morning something caught her eye. Something different. At first, she thought the early spring haze created an illusion. But, as she blinked and looked again, she spotted someone kneeling at the foot of Boone’s grave, praying. Apparition or not, she got a full blown, head-to-toe case of the heebie-jeebies, every hair on her body standing at attention. She rubbed her arms and tried to smooth them back in place. She closed her eyes. Okay. I’ll count to ten, and they’ll be gone . . . Nine . . . ten. She opened one eye, then shut it. Damn!

  “Hello? Can I help you?” Tizzy asked, her voice trembling.

  She moved closer. Her brain scrambled to make sense of what she saw. With each step her heart pumped faster and her knees grew weaker. The figure was not so much kneeling as it was slumped, and not so much praying as staged, its head resting limp against its chest and its lifeless arms spread wide. Tizzy’s scream came out as a weak yelp.

  She staggered and struggled to keep her balance. Her breath coming faster, she leaned forward, hugged her belly tight with both hands. She tried to stop the bile from rising, but too late. She retched and fell against a tree, her body slipping downward until she rested on the ground. She gasped, wiped her lips, reached inside her bra and pulled out her cell phone quickly punching in the numbers. “Hello, Dan? Dan, there’s a dead body in the cemetery!”

  Her brother laughed. “Ha-ha, very funny, Tizzy. I get it. April Fools!”

  “Dan, I’m not kidding. There really is a dead body in the cemetery, and I think it’s Marlene.”

  * * * * *

  Within an hour, the graveyard became the liveliest place in town, cordoned off with yellow crime tape strung from tree to tree. County Sheriff Dan McAlister and Police Chief Earl Dean Ramsey were on the scene. They waited patiently for over an hour until the Dallas forensic team arrived, headed by Dr. Jack Terrell.

  Terrell approached Dan, shaking his head. “This is a hell of a mess. Given the thunderstorm last night, I don’t think we’re gonna get much physical evidence. The rain more than likely washed everything away.”

  Standing outside the crime area, Dan turned his head and spit, then resumed his chew of tobacco. “Do you have any idea about Cause of Death?”

  Dr. Terrell, three months from retirement, looked thin and pale. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “No apparent sign. No blood. No wounds. No sign of strangulation. We won’t know until after the autopsy, and that’s gonna take a while. According to body temp and rigor, I can tell you she died between nine last night and two this morning.”

  “Well, given the location of the body and the time of death, I’d say the circumstances are suspicious enough to treat it as a homicide, unless your autopsy proves different. I’ll call the Dallas office and get a Ranger assigned to the case.”

  “Has anybody notified the family?” Dr. Terrell wanted to know.

  Chief Ramsey stepped forward. “I’m fixin’ to go tell ’im now, and I’m curious why he hasn’t reported her m
issing.”

  He‘d no sooner got the words out of his mouth when the dispatcher who had radioed Carl’s report of Marlene called through.

  Ramsey turned to face Dan. “Well, I guess that answers that. You wanna go with me? We can take his statement.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  As Ridge Cooper drove into Brownsboro, he chuckled. Welcome to Podunk. What a place to investigate his first solo case. He wasn’t fooling himself. He understood this was his Judgment Day. If he screwed up, he probably wouldn’t last much longer as a Texas Ranger, for no love was lost between him and Captain Reynolds. The Captain didn’t understand why a boy from Philadelphia would come all the way to Texas to be a Ranger. Eight years with the Philly Police Department and twenty-eight months with the Texas Department of Public Safety didn’t carry any weight with the Captain. No matter how impressive his case record and investigative skills, Ridge needed to prove himself all over again, this time as a Ranger. So he’d done his homework concerning Brownsboro.

  The little burg located about a hundred and twenty miles east of Dallas was the oldest town in Henderson County. Nestled among tall pines, the total area for the city consisted of only two square miles. A typical Texas rural community, where folks nodded and waved to everyone. Everybody knew their neighbors by name and thought nothing of borrowing a cup of sugar. There hadn’t been a murder in Brownsboro in fifty years.

  He slowed his car to a crawl and took everything in. One main street. One caution light. One red light. He drove past the post office, where old men out front were passing the time of day.

  A little farther down, a large wreath of white lilies tied with a black bow hung on the door of First United Bank. The electronic sign flashed Bank and Drive-thru open as usual.

  The town was plain, dismal really, he thought as he passed Hometown Grocery and City Wide Gazette. He made a U-turn and surveyed the other side of the street. There was no glitz here, and except for McAlister’s Tavern, probably no nightlife either. He smiled. This should be an open-and-shut case. The victim was bored to death. He continued on, passed Clippity-Do-Da Hair Salon, Sweet Thangs Bakery, and finally the Police station/City Hall.

  He angled into the station parking lot. The brick building was longer than it was wide, had a side entrance and windows stretching across the front. He got out of the car and went inside. Chief Ramsey and Sheriff McAlister rose to greet him, extending their hands.

  “You made record time,” Dan McAlister said. “We weren’t expecting you for two more hours. Like I told you on the phone, we don’t have any motels or hotels. But I’ve arranged for you to stay at Browning House. It’s fully furnished. I’ll take you to get settled, and then you can come back here and go over everything we know so far.”

  Ridge followed Dan as he turned right, then left. It was a depressed area, where streets weren’t curbed and guttered. Most of the houses were old and in need of paint, repair, or both. Cars no longer serviceable littered some of the lawns. Long past the season, Christmas lights dangled from rooftops while unsupervised kids played in front yards.

  They took a left onto Browning Street, and the atmosphere changed. Browning House, a restored home on the north end, didn’t look unoccupied. The lawn was manicured to perfection. The structure itself, a frame building, was painted cream with black shutters and green screen doors. An L-shaped porch guarded the front and one side. Between the curved post and above the railing, huge Boston ferns hung suspended by chains. Flowering shrubs with pale pink blooms outlined the veranda.

  By the time Ridge parked behind the sheriff, got out of the car and grabbed his suitcase, Dan McAlister was unlocking one of the two front doors. Ridge followed Dan inside.

  “This here’s your living room,” Dan said, and quickly showed him the rest of the layout. “You’ve got three bedrooms, and you can use any one you like, but this one at the end is the biggest and has the television. It also has the other front door opening out onto the porch.”

  Ridge turned in a circle, his mouth hung wide open at the delicate workmanship and elegance of the house. The bungalow had ten-foot ceilings and was decorated with a woman’s touch. It didn’t smell old, and he was thankful for that. Dan walked to the window and turned on the AC. A pleasant hum filled the room.

  “Sorry, you don’t have central heat and air. The sound of the unit may bother you at first, but after a while you won’t be able to sleep without the noise.”

  Ridge placed his one bag on the bed. “No need to apologize. I appreciate getting to stay local and not having to drive back and forth to a neighboring city every day just to sleep. Do you own the home, or do you just get to keep the key?”

  Dan reached into his pocket and took out his pouch of tobacco. “My sister, Tizzy, owns the house. You wouldn’t be able to get a room anyway. This time of year, people come from miles around to tour the homes in Tyler because of the Azalea Trails. I don’t understand women and flowers, but they’ll spend all day walkin’ and lookin’ at ‘em.”

  He pointed out the window above the AC unit. “Tizzy lives next door.” Dan stepped to the porch, reached into the pouch, pinched a wad of tobacco and tucked it into his cheek. “If you need anything, you can contact her or me. I help her take care of the place. I’ll leave you to get settled, and when you’re done, come back down to the station. No hurry, I’ll be in the office all afternoon.”

  Ridge strolled into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and found it fully stocked with basics and beer—Bless her, this is a woman after my own heart.

  On the counter next to the coffee pot, he spotted a box from Sweet Thangs Bakery. He lifted the lid, eyed an assortment of muffins, and immediately bit into one. Blueberries and moist goodness melted onto his tongue. Oh yeah, Sweet Thangs will definitely be a daily stop. He smiled as he chewed. Podunk town? The hospitality already exceeded his expectations. Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge.

  Ridge reminded himself about the “good ole boy” mentality of rural Texas. He’d need to tread lightly to gain their trust and friendship. Well, truthfully, he didn’t care about the friendship part, he wouldn’t be in town long enough for that to matter.

  Once again, Ridge drove into the station parking lot. As he got out of the car, he settled his hat, then pushed the office door open wide. Inside, he found the sheriff, chief, and deputy reared back in their chairs. Chief Ramsey leaned forward. “Cooper, have you met my deputy, Bubba Tatum?”

  Bubba jumped to his feet. “We’ve howdyed, but we ain’t shook. Glad to meet you, Cooper. Did you get squared away up at the house?”

  Perfect, just perfect. What would a hick town be without a Bubba and an Earl? Now all we need is a Billy Bob. “Yeah. And McAlister, thank your sister for me. She has the kitchen stocked with everything necessary. Now, what do we have on the case so far?”

  “Take a load off, Cooper,” Dan McAlister said, spitting into a Styrofoam coffee cup and motioning to an empty chair. “Best we can tell, she died sometime between nine p.m. and two a.m. We talked to her husband and took his statement. Here’s a copy for you.” He pulled a single sheet from a manila folder and passed the paper to Ridge. “First, let me give you some background. The vic is Marlene Weston, Caucasian, forty-one years old. She was born and raised here, and owned the local bank. Her husband Carl is the president.”

  “Carl claims she left the house last night around seven o’clock, headed to the church for a meeting. After that, she was going to the bank to go over some paperwork before the Board met today. She checked in with him about eight and said she was on her way to the bank. He goes to bed with the chickens, so he went directly after her call, and never woke up until this morning around eight.”

  Dan rocked back in his chair, brought the cup to his mouth and spit again, then continued. “He tried calling her on her cell phone, and then at the bank. When he didn’t get an answer, he drove downtown and found her car but no sign of her. That’s when he called the police station to report something was wrong.”

  Ridge start
ed to speak, but the sheriff held his hand up to stop him. “Hold that thought, there’s my sister, I’ll be right back.” He stepped to the door as a car wheeled into the parking lot.

  Bubba leaned forward and craned his neck. “Damn, there’s Tizzy.”

  Ridge set his eyes on her as she got out of the vehicle. She was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a bright red tee-shirt with the words “Sweet Thangs” in pink glitter stretched tightly across ample breasts.

  All three men stood, moved to the window, and watched as Dan patted her shoulder.

  “Bubba,” Chief Ramsey said, “try to stay calm and not drool all over the place.”

  Bubba took a deep breath. “Damn, I wish I could bury my face in those sweet thangs all night long.”

  Chief Ramsay thumped Bubba on his ear. “You watch your mouth. If Dan hears you talk like that, he’ll kick your ass.”

  Ridge hated the cliché men think with their dicks. He hated the truth of it. And even though he felt a twinge of disgust at Bubba’s sexist remark, his dick-brain was in total agreement at the moment.

  Bubba grinned. “Yeah, look but don’t touch.” He glanced at Ridge and nodded in the woman’s direction. “She found the body.”