Hung Out to Die by Sharon Short Page A

Worthy, Paradise’s chief of police, and about going with him to Mamaw Toadfern’s house to break the news to her and Aunt Nora, and how both women had been shocked and hysterical and how, somehow, it didn’t surprise me that for all their goofiness, the members of the Toadfern clan rallied around and calmed and comforted Mamaw and Aunt Nora. Even my mama and daddy.
    And I told her about them, too.
    And then I told her how, finally, I’d driven home, and discovered my apartment smelled of burned turkey—the roast had been in there far too long—and how I’d thrown the wasted turkey out, run the kitchen fan, and put away the other side-dish fixings I’d left out on the counter.
    Then I took a quick, hot shower, stumbled into bed and a blessed dreamless slumber . . . until Mrs. Oglevee showed up.
    â€œAnd it’s a good thing I did, too,” she said, annoyed again. Which disappointed me. I thought I’d woven a moving tale, well told. I thought Mrs. Oglevee had been wiping a tear from her eye—but maybe it was just turkey drumstick grease.
    â€œI can see,” she went on, twisting her mouth into a prim little line, as she always did when she thought I wasn’t paying attention in class, “that you are just going to walk away from this murder of your poor Uncle Fenwick.”
    â€œWell, yeah,” I sputtered. “It’s . . . it’s not any of my business.”
    â€œThat’s not like you. Whatever happened to Nosey Josie?”
    I shuddered at her use of my hated, old nickname and used my favorite line for defending my proclivity for interest in news: “I prefer to think of myself as curiosity-gifted.”
    â€œYour gift seems to be coming unwrapped,” she snapped.
    â€œWhat? You’ve always told me to mind my own business, to stop poking my nose in where it shouldn’t be. Now you think I should investigate Uncle Fenwick’s murder?”
    Mrs. Oglevee glared at me. I gave her a sly look, thinking of something that might get her to leave me alone. “Besides, Chief John Worthy is working with the sheriff’s department on the investigation.”
    As I’d expected, her look softened. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. Chief John Worthy—my ex-high-school sweetheart and current nemesis—had always been Mrs. Oglevee’s teacher’s pet.
    â€œDear Johnny,” she said, wistfully. “He was always so sweet and respectful—”
    â€œA suck-up,” I muttered.
    â€œWhat was that?” Mrs. Oglevee snapped.
    â€œNothing, ma’am.”
    â€œHmmph. Don’t back talk. Besides, I have a point of view you can’t share, and I’m telling you, this is one time your natural nosiness is needed.”
    â€œYou don’t think old Johnny’s up to the job this time?”
    â€œI think blood is thicker than water!”
    This time I did roll my eyes. “Oh, please. This is the first time I’ve seen the Toadferns in years. Most of them except Sally—”
    Mrs. Oglevee interrupted me with a grunt of disgust. If anyone could annoy her faster and more deeply than me, it was Sally. Of course, with Sally, it was intentional, because she found Mrs. Oglevee’s reactions amusing.
    â€œMost of them except Sally,” I repeated, emphasizing Sally, “have been downright rude and ignored me all these years. So why should I investigate Uncle Fenwick’s murder when no one—least of all the officials—wants me to?”
    â€œBecause, my dear, you might just learn some things about your family—and yourself—that can help you personally.”
    There was a shrill sound, and Mrs. Oglevee jumped. “Oh! I had more to tell you, but time’s up.” A gigantic alarm clock—the old-fashioned antique kind with two bells on top—fell into her lap and shrilled again. She peered at it. “Yes, time for the next