haven’t yet been able to make a positive identification, I can tell you the victim was female.”
Female? The victim was a woman! This time the murmurs rippling through the crowd were louder and more insistent. The sheriff waited them out.
“You were right, Kate,” Connie Sue said in a low voice. “We need to make sure our friends are all in one piece.”
I grimaced at her choice of words, but Connie Sue didn’t seem to notice. “Thacker’ll just have to wait till tomorrow for pot roast.”
The sheriff waited until things quieted down. “Law-enforcement officials, myself included, believe this is an isolated incident of violence directed at one specific target.”
One specific target? My hunch had been right . The arm and whatever else the campers found apparently belonged to the same person.
Bernie Mason, the jerk with the bad comb-over, jumped to his feet. “Sheriff, we could all be murdered in our beds. How do you propose to stop this crime wave?”
“One murder, sir, hardly constitutes a crime wave. My department is doin’ everythin’ possible to bring the killer to justice. Let me assure you, there is no need for panic.”
No need to panic? Could he be a little more specific? Does this mean Shirley and Bootsy, the ladies from the Piggly Wiggly, won’t have to debate security systems versus guard dogs? Can Bootsy’s husband stop locking doors? The possibilities were mind-boggling.
“Any more questions?”
Brave man, Sheriff Wiggins. My arm shot into the air like a rocket.
“Miz McCall . . . ,” he dragged out my name.
“I heard you call for a sled on Saturday. I waited as long as I could, but never saw one arrive. Could you please explain why no one responded to your request?”
For the first time, I saw him crack a smile. His whole countenance seemed to change, to light from within. He seemed almost . . . human. “Ma’am, that might be because SLED isn’t a sled. SLED is an acronym. It stands for South Carolina Law Enforcement Division . It’s the official investigative arm of the governor and attorney general. Rest assured, SLED will, indeed, be assistin’ in the investigation.”
I could hear people in the audience titter at my inane question and the sheriff’s response. Again he succeeded in putting me in my place. Rita, sensing my embarrassment, reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Next question.”
This time it was Mort What’s-His-Name, Bernie’s golfing buddy, who stood up. “What can you tell us about the weapon?”
“Cause of death still hasn’t been established. All I can say for now is that the perpetrator has access to power tools.”
Power tools?
Sheriff Sumter Wiggins had just declared every man in Serenity Cove Estates a suspect.
Chapter 12
The appointed hour for the first-ever Bunco Babes Emergency Session was at hand.
“Nice outfit,” Megan said, complimenting Polly on her stonewashed jeans and stretchy top.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Polly preened, sticking out her modest bosom to emphasize the cherry red top adorned with sequins arranged in the shape of a heart. “Got it at that place you told me about at the mall. They have some really cool clothes.” She sent a meaningful glance at her daughter’s slacks. “I’m not ready for polyester.”
Gloria rolled her eyes and refused to take the bait. Apparently mother and daughter had had this discussion before. “Where’s Monica?” she asked, zeroing in on a table set for three instead of the usual four.
Monica was conspicuous for her absence. I could have cheerfully strangled her when she called half an hour ago to back out of tonight’s game. How was I supposed to find a sub at the last minute? The Babes all turned to me, waiting for an answer.
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” I held up both hands palm out and shrugged. “Monica was afraid she’d get sick again if we started talking about . . . you know.”
“What do you mean if ?” Polly asked. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t
Female? The victim was a woman! This time the murmurs rippling through the crowd were louder and more insistent. The sheriff waited them out.
“You were right, Kate,” Connie Sue said in a low voice. “We need to make sure our friends are all in one piece.”
I grimaced at her choice of words, but Connie Sue didn’t seem to notice. “Thacker’ll just have to wait till tomorrow for pot roast.”
The sheriff waited until things quieted down. “Law-enforcement officials, myself included, believe this is an isolated incident of violence directed at one specific target.”
One specific target? My hunch had been right . The arm and whatever else the campers found apparently belonged to the same person.
Bernie Mason, the jerk with the bad comb-over, jumped to his feet. “Sheriff, we could all be murdered in our beds. How do you propose to stop this crime wave?”
“One murder, sir, hardly constitutes a crime wave. My department is doin’ everythin’ possible to bring the killer to justice. Let me assure you, there is no need for panic.”
No need to panic? Could he be a little more specific? Does this mean Shirley and Bootsy, the ladies from the Piggly Wiggly, won’t have to debate security systems versus guard dogs? Can Bootsy’s husband stop locking doors? The possibilities were mind-boggling.
“Any more questions?”
Brave man, Sheriff Wiggins. My arm shot into the air like a rocket.
“Miz McCall . . . ,” he dragged out my name.
“I heard you call for a sled on Saturday. I waited as long as I could, but never saw one arrive. Could you please explain why no one responded to your request?”
For the first time, I saw him crack a smile. His whole countenance seemed to change, to light from within. He seemed almost . . . human. “Ma’am, that might be because SLED isn’t a sled. SLED is an acronym. It stands for South Carolina Law Enforcement Division . It’s the official investigative arm of the governor and attorney general. Rest assured, SLED will, indeed, be assistin’ in the investigation.”
I could hear people in the audience titter at my inane question and the sheriff’s response. Again he succeeded in putting me in my place. Rita, sensing my embarrassment, reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Next question.”
This time it was Mort What’s-His-Name, Bernie’s golfing buddy, who stood up. “What can you tell us about the weapon?”
“Cause of death still hasn’t been established. All I can say for now is that the perpetrator has access to power tools.”
Power tools?
Sheriff Sumter Wiggins had just declared every man in Serenity Cove Estates a suspect.
Chapter 12
The appointed hour for the first-ever Bunco Babes Emergency Session was at hand.
“Nice outfit,” Megan said, complimenting Polly on her stonewashed jeans and stretchy top.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Polly preened, sticking out her modest bosom to emphasize the cherry red top adorned with sequins arranged in the shape of a heart. “Got it at that place you told me about at the mall. They have some really cool clothes.” She sent a meaningful glance at her daughter’s slacks. “I’m not ready for polyester.”
Gloria rolled her eyes and refused to take the bait. Apparently mother and daughter had had this discussion before. “Where’s Monica?” she asked, zeroing in on a table set for three instead of the usual four.
Monica was conspicuous for her absence. I could have cheerfully strangled her when she called half an hour ago to back out of tonight’s game. How was I supposed to find a sub at the last minute? The Babes all turned to me, waiting for an answer.
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” I held up both hands palm out and shrugged. “Monica was afraid she’d get sick again if we started talking about . . . you know.”
“What do you mean if ?” Polly asked. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t
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