Fixin' To Die (A Kenni Lowry Mystery Book 1) by Tonya Kappes Page B

sure that you’re okay?” Camille put the file on her desk facedown.
    “Dagnabbit.” Poppa snapped his fingers in an “aw shucks” way and disappeared into thin air. I blinked a few times. Was I really seeing Poppa or was the stress getting to me?
    “I’m just a little stressed about this whole thing. Plus, I hate to have to subpoena my friends.” Calling Camille a friend was stretching it. Granted, we’d never mixed words, but we’d never gone shopping together either. Though there was Euchre.
    Though it felt a little strange telling her, one of my peers, my issues, I wanted to talk about it. But it was hard to concentrate on me when I really wanted to see what was in that file and was wondering if my imagination Poppa could do ghost things like float in and between walls and windows. Who needed a warrant when I had Poppa? “With all the things,” I emphasized the word things, meaning the murder and the break-in, “I think the stress is getting to me.”
    “Really?” She pushed a strand of her long black hair behind her ear, focusing her light black eyes on me. She seemed to relax as our conversation turned to my issues. “How so?”
    “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I swear I keep hearing someone whisper to me.” I could see she thought I was nuts. It was right there in her eyes. “I even had a dream about it.” I left out the part about my ghost and how I thought it was Poppa.
    When Poppa died, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to carry on with my life. He meant that much to me. And the only way I’d felt a connection with him after his death was by becoming sheriff. Somehow it made me feel close to him.
    “Kenni.” Camille reached out and took my hands into hers. “Stress does funny things to our minds and bodies. It’s only natural for you to react in such ways. And I’m writing you a prescription to get a massage down at Tiny Tina’s.” She let go of my hands and walked around her desk. She grabbed the fancy long silver pen out of a penholder with a tiny plaque boasting her credentials. The pen made a slight scribbling sound as she wrote something on a piece of paper. “You need to make sure during this investigation that you take time out for yourself.”
    “I don’t think a massage is going to do it.” I laughed, wondering who was really the crazy one, her or me.
    “I’m serious, Kenni.” She held her pointer finger and middle finger toward me, the piece of paper stuck between the two. “Stress plays with our minds and if you don’t get a handle on it naturally, you won’t be able to solve the murder or the theft.” She walked around to the front of the desk and leaned her butt up against it. She looked down her nose at me. “You are up for re-election in a couple of years. You and I both know that the way you conduct this investigation and how it’s solved could be your legacy.”
    She was right. Small-town politics could get ugly, and if I wanted to be re-elected, now was not the time to act nuts.
    Reluctantly, I took the paper from her and opened it. She had written: “Take care of yourself. Get an aromatherapy massage.”
    “And if this doesn’t work,” she walked over to the door and opened it, my cue to leave, “then we will look at alternative means. Got it?”
    “Yes.” I stood up and walked out into the hallway. “But Tiny Tina’s idea of a spa is a vanilla extract rub down. And a pedicure.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Don’t get me started on how she thinks olive oil over a few of the rocks she dug out of the town branch was worth thirty dollars. Though this will make my mama happy if she hears I stepped inside of Tiny Tina’s.”
    That was no joke. Someone would see me go inside the shop and call Mama immediately. Mama would nearly break her arm patting her own self on the back thinking she talked me into going to beauty school after all.
    “Kenni, it was great seeing you.”
    Camille pushed me out into the waiting