Other People's Baggage by Kendel Lynn, Gigi Pandian, Diane Vallere Page B

expansive lawn surrounded by black ranch fencing. Three white utility vans took up most of the circle drive which hummed with an army of caterers and crew in uniform.
    I nestled the Vespa on the walkway, half on the lawn, half off. “Zibby, who’s arresting whom?”
    â€œOh, Elliott,” she said. She gripped her handbag tight in one hand and a silk handkerchief in the other. “The police are dragging Miss Bea away. I didn’t know what to do but call you.”
    â€œRita said something about a murder.”
    â€œAustin’s! They think she killed her own husband.”
    The door flew open and a little blond woman waved us in. “Is this your gal, Zibs, the one who fixes things?”
    â€œOh yes. This is Elli Lisbon with the Ballantyne. She really knows her trouble.”
    â€œWell, then, get on in here. Kathy Lee’s pitchin’ such a fit, Sheriff’s about to cuff her up next to Mama Bea.”

SWITCH BACK: THREE

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    The little blonde walked back through the open door, clipping along the marble floors in a pair of shoes so high, I thought she might tip over. And yet she still only reached my elbow.
    â€œI’m Jolene Carter,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re just in time to stop the nonsense.”
    I followed her down the hall and into a bright sunroom just off the kitchen.
    â€œThey think Mama Bea killed Big Daddy. Now that’s nothing but a bunch a ballyhoo, isn’t it, Sheriff?”
    A man in a tan uniform, presumably the sheriff, tipped his Smokey the Bear hat and set down his coffee cup. He rose from his seat at an elegant side table and gestured to an older woman sitting at the same table, wearing her Sunday best, sipping from her own pretty porcelain cup.
    She smiled at me. “You must be Elliott. I’m Bea Carter. Zibby simply adores you, so of course I’m sure I will, too. She says you’re just what we need to untangle this pickle I’m in. Can I getcha cup of coffee or a scone?”
    I eyeballed a platter of raspberry white chocolate scones and blueberry muffins surrounded by dainty dishes of butter, clotted cream, homemade jams, and fresh honey. I instantly forgot about all those frittatas I missed out on earlier. Who needs eggs when there are chocolate scones?
    â€œSheriff, I think we should get on our way,” Bea said. “Traffic’s going to be sticky if we wait much longer.”
    â€œOkay, then. Already called Austin Jr.,” the sheriff said. “He’ll meet us at the station, have you out before sundown.” He tipped his hat and escorted Bea from the room, her arm wrapped in his as if they were taking a stroll through town.
    Zibby and I took their empty seats at the table and I poured us coffee. I don’t usually drink it, as I prefer my caffeine cold, but I didn’t want to make a fuss.
    A tall woman with a jet black bob marched into the room, her voice as powerful as her steps. “If you think I’ll just stand by and let you drag my mama out the back door like a presidential assassin on election day, you got another thing coming Sheriff—” She stopped mid-rant and spun toward Jolene. “Where the hell did he go? Did you let him haul her off to jail, Jolene? I’ll give that Sheriff the what for if he took Mama without waiting for me.”
    â€œOh relax, Kathy Lee,” Jolene said. “A.J. will have her out this afternoon. Now the good Lord’s watching and I’m sure He doesn’t appreciate you threatening the law.”
    â€œWell, you can tell the good Lord I don’t appreciate this cataclysm on the day of Big Daddy’s Cattle Baron’s Ball.”
    â€œYou can tell the Lord yourself,” Jolene said.
    The two women stood toe to toe; Jolene in sassy red stilettos and Kathy Lee in sturdy black pumps. And as with me, the top of Jolene’s big blond hairdo-ed head reached Kathy Lee’s elbow at best. The two women