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  Ridge pulled his brows together, looking past Bubba to find Tizzy. “That’s awful.”

  “Worse than awful. Boone never knew about the baby. Tizzy didn’t even know she was pregnant until weeks after his death. She was in bad shape at first, but Gracie saved her.”

  “Gracie?”

  “Yeah. Her baby. She’s a little doll. I’m sure you’ll meet her, since you’re staying next door. She’s a little social butterfly—and sassy, like her momma.”

  Ridge kept his eyes on Tizzy. Wanting more information, he asked, “So . . . given your interest in Tizzy, you ever asked her out?”

  Bubba did a quick head jerk and opened his eyes wide. “Naw. Tizzy wouldn’t go out with me. As a matter of fact, I don’t think she’s been out with anybody since Boone’s death.”

  “Really?” Ridge’s voice was full of disbelief. “How long has it been?”

  Tizzy caught his gaze, causing him to look away.

  Bubba squinted, doing the math. “Gracie’s three, going on four, so almost five years.”

  Rayann approached the table. “Can I get y’all anything else?” Taking her thumb, she wiped Bubba’s face at the corner of his lips. “You had a little whipped cream right there,” she said, “but I got it.” She brought her thumb to her mouth and licked it.

  He fidgeted in his seat. “No, we’re ready for our ticket.”

  Rayann tossed her hair back, laid the ticket on the table, then offered her hand to Ridge. “Hi. I’m Rayann Harrison, and welcome to Browntown.”

  “Ridge Cooper. Nice to meet you.”

  “Be sure and have Dwayne bring you back for our Wednesday special. Of course, I’m sure he will. He never misses our Wednesday special. Do you, Dwayne?” She smiled sweetly.

  Blushing, he mumbled. “Yeah, I’ll bring him.”

  When she retreated to the next table, Ridge looked over at Bubba. “What’s going on between the two of you, and why doesn’t she call you Bubba?”

  Bubba huffed.” I don’t know why she won’t call me Bubba, and there’s not a damn thing going on between us. Let’s just sit here a minute. I wanna finish my tea.”

  Ridge chuckled. “Yeah, I bet you do. What’s Wednesday’s special?”

  “Better Than Sex cupcakes.”

  Ridge laughed. “Yeah, I’ll wanna try those, for sure.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was approaching the hottest part of the day, and vapor rose from the pavement in waves. Ridge parked his car next to Tizzy’s under a shade tree at Jenkins Cemetery and rolled down all the windows to keep the heat from collecting inside.

  The secret to his investigative skills was his ability to appear cool, calm and collected on the surface, while underneath he concentrated on each facial tic, mannerism, and every intonation. He patiently waited like a trained assassin stalking his prey for the one little mistake that would make or break a case.

  When it came to women, he approached his interrogations with a soft tone and a gentle manner. His easy nature drew them in. They didn’t feel threatened. Quite the opposite. They judged him trustworthy, unassuming and friendly. To his advantage, that was the biggest mistake they made. He solved cases because suspects were comfortable talking to him. He expected Tizzy Donovan to be no different.

  He found her sitting on a bench with her eyes closed. A gathering breeze caused fine strands of her long dark brown hair to float about her face. With sunlight stroking her skin like a whispered breath, she was even more beautiful. As he approached, her scent wafted in the air. She smelled of fresh baked cookies. He closed his eyes and let the aroma settle on his tongue.

  “Miss Donovan? I’m not interrupting, am I?”

  “No. Why would you be interrupting?”

  Moving closer to her, he removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I thought you might be . . . er . . . chatting with someone.”

  She smiled. “I guess somebody told you I talk to the dead. You probably think I’m crazy. Right?”

  He took another step toward her, focused on her face, studied her expression. “No. Not at all. Unusual . . . but not crazy. I’m thinking you could ask some of them to help with the case. Ask them if they saw anything.”

  She moved to the end of the bench and patted the area next to her, inviting him to sit down. “Now, you’re just making fun, aren’t you?” Her smile appeared cemented in place.

  “No. Really I’m not.” Keeping his voice soft and convincing. “I suppose it’s possible for certain people to communicate with the dead. How does it work? Do you ask them questions, or do they just give you information, and you have no control over it?”

  “Most of what they tell me is useless, plant pink tulips . . . collect state quarters . . . don’t buy a Snuggie.” She laughed lightly. “I was a child when it started.” She stood up and walked to Boone’s grave.

  Ridge followed. “I suppose you know everyone buried here,” he said.

  She raised her hand to shade her eyes and smiled up at him. “This is the only cemetery in the city limits. Arliss and Opal Jenkins donated the land when their first-born child died and was laid to rest here in 1892. I don’t know everyone, but I know relatives of everyone.”

  She glanced back at Boone‘s grave. “The day of Boone’s funeral I stood in this exact spot, closed my eyes, and let the stillness surround me.” Her voice sounded soft and soothing as she spoke. “The wind whispered to me . . . name her Grace Ann. At the time, I didn’t understand what it meant. Three weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.” She closed her eyes as a single tear dropped from each one.

  Fighting the urge to comfort her, he reached into his pocket, took out his handkerchief and offered it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She took it and wiped at her tears. “That’s okay. I’m not usually this emotional. I just haven’t thought about that in awhile. Anyway, that’s how the conversations work. ”

  “I understand,” he said, easing into his interrogation. “I don’t imagine you find a dead body every day. Personally, I think you’re calm for someone who has. I understand this is your usual jogging route.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you . . . I mean, do you . . . stop to visit every day?”

  She shook her head. “No. Most days, I just run. But I always look toward Boone’s grave. A habit, I guess.”

  The sound of a car engine caught Ridge’s attention. He recognized Dan McAlister’s patrol car. Dan unfolded his giant body from the car and approached them. “Y’all didn’t start without me, did you?”

  Ridge shook his head. “I didn’t realize you were invited.”

  Dan was quick to respond. “Something you should know about me, Cooper. I watch out for my little sister. And as sheriff, I have the right to be present during interrogations. You got a problem with that?”

  Ridge fought to keep his temper from rising. No need to stir up trouble, he decided. If push came to shove, he’d inform the sheriff who was in charge of the investigation.

  “No, no problem. Miss Donovan and I were discussing her gift.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Please, Trooper Cooper, call me Tizzy.”

  Ridge made no attempt to correct her about his rank, for the sassy Tizzy was back. “If you will, walk me though what you did this morning,” he said.

  Tizzy related the story to him the same as in her statement, emphasizing she didn’t touch the body.

  “I also wanted to follow up on what you said earlier. Why would Marlene Weston avoid this cemetery?”

  Tizzy and Dan exchanged a look before she turned her attention back to Ridge. “Marlene got upset when I had Boone buried here. She vowed the day of the funeral to never set foot in this cemetery again if I did.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m a little confused. Why did it matter to her where you buried your husband?”

  She took a slow deep breath and spoke softly. “Marlene was Boone’s sister.”

  The hairs on the back of Ridge’s neck began to prickle, the way they alwa
ys did when he was onto something. “Anything else you need to tell me?” He shifted his weight from side to side.

  “Nothing comes to mind,” she said.

  “Why didn’t Marlene want her brother buried here?”

  “She wanted him buried next to their parents. She argued I was young and would more than likely marry again. I think her exact words were, ‘You’ll have another husband, but I’ll never have another brother.’”

  Ridge glanced at Dan, then back at Tizzy. “Actually, that makes sense. Did you even consider her request?”

  “Of course I did, but before he left, he demanded we get married, make a will, and discuss what he wanted in case something happened. I was carrying out his wishes, not mine. Of course, Marlene didn’t believe me,” Tizzy said, wiping tears again.

  “Bubba told me your husband had only been in Iraq three weeks when he got killed. So, how long were you married?” Ridge told himself it was a logical investigative question.

  She walked back to the bench and sat down. Both men followed and stood next to each other. “Shortly before Boone and I graduated college, he informed me he wanted to join the Marines. I begged him not to, but he wouldn’t listen. He had his mind made up. So a week before he enlisted, we got married. With his leave before and after basic training, and the few weeks in Iraq, we were married a little more than three months. But understand, Boone and I had gone together since junior high. I didn’t rush him into marriage. As a matter of fact, it was his idea.”

  Ridge saw the light in her eyes dim and her lips tremble.

  Dan quickly sat down and folded her in his arms. He spoke to Ridge over his shoulder. “That’s enough for today.”

  Ridge moved closer to them, keeping in mind this was the sheriff‘s sister. A man he would be working with in the weeks ahead. It wouldn’t be smart to alienate him.

  “Of course. I’m sorry, Miss Don--- I mean Tizzy. It’s not my intention to upset you. I do have a few more questions, but I’ll save them for another time.”

  She stood and took a step toward him with her hand out, returning his handkerchief. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Ridge turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, one more question. Where were you last night between nine p.m. and two this morning?”

  Tizzy swallowed hard. “At home.”

  “Anybody with you?”

  “Nobody who can give me an alibi, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Dan got up, darted his eyes, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Oh, Cooper, I have the names you wanted at the station, those church committee members Marlene met with. You can pick them up any time. If you need me for anything, I’ll be sticking pretty close to home for the next few weeks. My wife is about to deliver any day. I’ll be happy to go with you to interview and take statements if you want.” He took Tizzy by her elbow and guided her toward her car. She drove away first, with Dan and Ridge following.

  * * * * *

  Ridge picked up the weekly newspaper from the drive and glanced toward Tizzy’s house. He thought back to their earlier meeting in the cemetery. Twice in less than an hour, he’d made a woman cry. He hadn’t done that since Jenny. He knew memories of lost love were some of the most painful you could experience, especially if you were powerless in preventing the loss, as Tizzy had been.

  Unfortunately, he’d had the power to prevent his own. He’d just been too stupid to pay attention. Busy trying to make detective . . . build his career . . . establish a reputation. While his professional life was taking off, his personal life was falling apart all around him. Too many last- minute phone calls . . .

  too many late night hours . . . too many broken promises. She’d deserved better. He accepted all the responsibility for the break-up of his marriage. He’d learned to live with it. But when something or someone reminded him, regret knotted his gut. Last he’d heard, Jenny still lived in Philadelphia, had remarried and had a baby. He was happy for her.

  Earlier, Tizzy’s tears had been genuine. Some women, when questioned, cried to win his sympathy. That never worked with him. Tears didn’t usually affect him, but Tizzy’s had. He felt her pain. He understood her loneliness. Her sassy attitude usually hid it, but this afternoon he’d seen it. He’d be careful the next time he questioned her. First and foremost, it wouldn’t be in the cemetery. He’d choose a place devoid of painful memories. But then again, in a town this small, he imagined every turn and corner held them.

  He walked back into the house and straight to the fridge, took out a beer and rolled the can across his forehead. The cold felt good. It had been a long day . . . a helluva day. He made his way to the bedroom, turned on the AC, and stripped down to his boxers. Falling into the overstuffed chair, he rested his feet on the ottoman and turned on the lamp. He opened the beer and looked down at the paper. Eight pages . . . all local news . . . church news . . . school news . . . cook of the week. He glanced at the headlines. Second Annual Chili Cook-off Winners—Area Elections Candidates Face off—Bears Getting Closer to Playoffs.

  Ridge flipped to page two. At the top of the page was an article titled “Town Talk,” written by Stella Easton. Lonnie Bardwell had relatives and out-of-town guests at his home for the first time since his wife Mary Nell died six months ago. It was hard for him to have a party, but everyone enjoyed the day. He moved on to the next paragraph. Jessie Porterfield died last Friday. You can remove him from the prayer list. Ridge laughed. They must be desperate for news.

  He imagined next week’s paper would be filled with articles about Marlene Weston’s murder and memorial service. Given her standing in the community, she’d probably get a full page of coverage. Hell, because of her, next week’s edition might have ten pages.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ridge never before had witnessed a memorial service like Marlene Weston’s. None of the local churches were large enough to accommodate the expected crowd, so the high school auditorium served as the location. Ridge arranged for it to be filmed.

  He marveled at the flowers lining the perimeter of the room and the oversized gold frames displaying pictures of Marlene from infancy right up until the day she died. Carl hired an event planner to transform the student cafeteria from concrete walls and tile floors to a virtual Garden of Eden for the reception.

  Carl Weston didn’t plan on returning to work until Tuesday—so out of respect, Ridge adjusted his interview plans. After Carl, he would question remaining employees of the bank, any domestic help Marlene had, and lastly, her hairdresser. Ridge found in his investigations that women confided in their hairdressers, masseurs, and manicurists.

  He’d already received statement copies for the last six months on Marlene’s cell, residence phones, and credit cards. Also, her car had been impounded and her home and work computers confiscated.

  This early in his investigation, Tizzy Donovan remained his prime suspect along with Carl Weston. The spouse always topped the suspect list.

  Tizzy certainly didn’t fit the profile of a murderer, he told himself. But, given the right circumstances, anybody was capable of murder. The problem with Tizzy was his attraction to her. Regardless, he couldn’t let that cloud his judgment. He’d had the feeling at the cemetery that she was holding something back. Sheriff McAlister’s presence also sent up a red flag. He was protective of his sister, and rightly so; but Ridge thought he’d coached her about what to say.

  Since Marlene’s watch, wallet, and rings were missing, robbery could have been a motive; but given the placement of the body, the murderer knew her. Ridge was sure this wasn’t random. This was personal.

  * * * * *

  It was late afternoon when Ridge pulled into the police station and parked. He removed his hat, laid it on the seat, and rushed indoors to escape the heat.

  Inside, Bubba leaned against the counter, and Chief Ramsey manned the front desk.

  “Hey, Cooper, you wanna ride with me tonight for a while?” Bubba asked. “I promise you won’t be bored.”

  “That’s
for sure,” Chief Ramsey guffawed. “Bubba’s a real voyeur on Monday nights.”

  Bubba jutted out his chest. “I looked that word up you know. I am not a voyeur. I ain’t watching anybody nekked.”

  Chief Ramsey crossed his arms. “They may not be nekked, but you’re getting off on watchin ’em.”

  “I am not! I’m protecting citizens working late, that’s all,” Bubba said, sticking to high ground.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’re talking about,” Ridge said, taking a seat.

  Chief Ramsey lazily rocked back and forth in his desk chair. “You see, Cooper, sometimes, down at Sweet Thangs, the sweet thangs stay late baking sweet thangs, and Bubba here likes to park in the shadows and watch ’em. Especially one of ‘em.”

  Bubba straightened his shoulders. “Now wait a minute, Chief. You make me sound perverted, and I’m not. I’m watching out for those ladies. They’re usually alone and if anything ever happened, y’all’d be glad I was there.” He turned to Ridge. “Anyway, you wanna go? When I finish my shift, we can grab a beer.”

  “Why not? I don’t have anything else to do,” he said. “What time will you pick me up?”

  “About eight.” Bubba smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. “Say, do you have binoculars and a camera?”

  Ridge snapped his head around. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Bubba laughed heartily, crossed the room and opened the door. “Yeah. I’m kidding. See you at eight,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  * * * * *

  As inconspicuously as possible, with their lights off, Bubba and Ridge came down the alley facing Sweet Thangs and parked in the shadows. Bubba rolled down all the windows, and a slight breeze stirred the air. They unbuckled their seat belts and sat in silence for a minute, listening to the sounds of nature. Cicadas sang in the trees, a neighboring owl joined in, and then came the faint whistle of a freight train off in the distance. A gibbous moon hung in the night sky, and the aroma of cake floated to them.