victims.”
“There have been other incidents,” Tinkie pointed out. “The hot pepper in Babs Lafitte’s hair spray. The chocolate roaches for Karrie Kompton.”
We looked at each other. “Karrie Kompton,” we said simultaneously, perfecting the stereo rendition of our brilliant and parallel thoughts.
“She’s bitch enough to send herself chocolate roaches,” Tinkie said.
“Too true. But would she actually bite one in half?” I shuddered at the thought.
I could deal with spiders and snakes, albeit reluctantly, but roaches terrified me. The bastards had a habit of flying at me and clamping down on my skin with their scratchy, filthy little legs. When I was ten I’d accompanied my father to a fancy party in town for a visiting politician. I’d been forced to wear a frilly dress with a starched petticoat. My father and I were walking downtown singing one of his favorite Western songs about a faithful horse when a big ol’ cockroach flew from the roots of an oak tree onto my leg and crawled under my petticoat. Needless to say, neither the dress nor petticoat survived.
The scandal that ensued came mostly from the fact that the First Baptist Church had just let out their evening service and the congregation burst out the front doors to find me on their steps tearing my clothes off and screeching like a wild thing.
The minister thought I was possessed and rushed over with a Bible to drive the devil out of me.
All in all, it was a hallmark event that scarred me for life when it comes to roaches. “I hate roaches,” I said.
Tinkie poked me in the arm. “You’re remembering the day you tore your clothes off in front of Reverend Johnny Finch and the entire Baptist church, aren’t you?” She laughed. “Two of the choir ladies fainted and gave themselves concussions when they hit the cement steps. It was a helluva sight.”
“Daddy gave me his shirt to cover my ‘nekkedness’ as everyone was screaming.” I laughed, too. It was an awful but funny memory.
“Little tatters of your dress and petticoat blew around town for at least a week. People found them in shrubbery. Mrs. Hedgepeth was going to file a complaint against you.”
I hadn’t thought of Mrs. Hedgepeth, the town grump, since she’d had Sweetie Pie arrested for trespassing. “Mama took care of her. She paid her a visit and whatever was said, Mrs. Hedgepeth quit yapping about my ‘littering up the whole town.’ ”
“If anyone tried to hurt you, Sarah Booth, they had Libby Delaney to deal with.”
“Yeah. Mama had my back, even when I was in the wrong.” The memory was bittersweet.
“About the roaches. The answer is a big yes. Karrie Kompton would do almost anything to win this contest. If she’s the one behind the murders, she’s perfectly capable of eating a roach to shift the finger of blame away from herself.”
“You really think Karrie could do these terrible things?” I asked.
“Perhaps my reasoning is colored by my dislike of her.” Tinkie was nothing if not honest. “Nonetheless, until we have another lead to follow, let’s go at this as if Karrie is behind it.”
“Coleman wouldn’t approve of selecting a suspect before the evidence is viewed.”
“Oh, grow up. Coleman does it all the time. How else do you explain how he arrested
you
for murder?”
I zipped my lip on that one. I had volleyed with Tinkie and lost. Now it was time for action.
The Delta Correctional Facility was on Baldwin Road. Hedy was hotter than a hornet who’d been swatted with a stick, but based on lack of evidence, Russell Dean had convinced the prosecuting attorney not to file murder charges. Still, Jansen made it clear that Hedy was his number-one suspect. As she walked out of the facility with me and Tinkie, Jansen called out, “Enjoy the free air. No one commits murder in Greenwood and gets away with it.”
Hedy turned and started back, but Tinkie restrained her. Judging from the hot pink of Hedy’s cheeks, a physical assault on
“There have been other incidents,” Tinkie pointed out. “The hot pepper in Babs Lafitte’s hair spray. The chocolate roaches for Karrie Kompton.”
We looked at each other. “Karrie Kompton,” we said simultaneously, perfecting the stereo rendition of our brilliant and parallel thoughts.
“She’s bitch enough to send herself chocolate roaches,” Tinkie said.
“Too true. But would she actually bite one in half?” I shuddered at the thought.
I could deal with spiders and snakes, albeit reluctantly, but roaches terrified me. The bastards had a habit of flying at me and clamping down on my skin with their scratchy, filthy little legs. When I was ten I’d accompanied my father to a fancy party in town for a visiting politician. I’d been forced to wear a frilly dress with a starched petticoat. My father and I were walking downtown singing one of his favorite Western songs about a faithful horse when a big ol’ cockroach flew from the roots of an oak tree onto my leg and crawled under my petticoat. Needless to say, neither the dress nor petticoat survived.
The scandal that ensued came mostly from the fact that the First Baptist Church had just let out their evening service and the congregation burst out the front doors to find me on their steps tearing my clothes off and screeching like a wild thing.
The minister thought I was possessed and rushed over with a Bible to drive the devil out of me.
All in all, it was a hallmark event that scarred me for life when it comes to roaches. “I hate roaches,” I said.
Tinkie poked me in the arm. “You’re remembering the day you tore your clothes off in front of Reverend Johnny Finch and the entire Baptist church, aren’t you?” She laughed. “Two of the choir ladies fainted and gave themselves concussions when they hit the cement steps. It was a helluva sight.”
“Daddy gave me his shirt to cover my ‘nekkedness’ as everyone was screaming.” I laughed, too. It was an awful but funny memory.
“Little tatters of your dress and petticoat blew around town for at least a week. People found them in shrubbery. Mrs. Hedgepeth was going to file a complaint against you.”
I hadn’t thought of Mrs. Hedgepeth, the town grump, since she’d had Sweetie Pie arrested for trespassing. “Mama took care of her. She paid her a visit and whatever was said, Mrs. Hedgepeth quit yapping about my ‘littering up the whole town.’ ”
“If anyone tried to hurt you, Sarah Booth, they had Libby Delaney to deal with.”
“Yeah. Mama had my back, even when I was in the wrong.” The memory was bittersweet.
“About the roaches. The answer is a big yes. Karrie Kompton would do almost anything to win this contest. If she’s the one behind the murders, she’s perfectly capable of eating a roach to shift the finger of blame away from herself.”
“You really think Karrie could do these terrible things?” I asked.
“Perhaps my reasoning is colored by my dislike of her.” Tinkie was nothing if not honest. “Nonetheless, until we have another lead to follow, let’s go at this as if Karrie is behind it.”
“Coleman wouldn’t approve of selecting a suspect before the evidence is viewed.”
“Oh, grow up. Coleman does it all the time. How else do you explain how he arrested
you
for murder?”
I zipped my lip on that one. I had volleyed with Tinkie and lost. Now it was time for action.
The Delta Correctional Facility was on Baldwin Road. Hedy was hotter than a hornet who’d been swatted with a stick, but based on lack of evidence, Russell Dean had convinced the prosecuting attorney not to file murder charges. Still, Jansen made it clear that Hedy was his number-one suspect. As she walked out of the facility with me and Tinkie, Jansen called out, “Enjoy the free air. No one commits murder in Greenwood and gets away with it.”
Hedy turned and started back, but Tinkie restrained her. Judging from the hot pink of Hedy’s cheeks, a physical assault on
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