up with his stalling.”
Bobbie didn’t share her enthusiasm. “But why bother framing me? I thought bookies made an example out of guys who didn’t pay their debts. Blood and gore is more their style.”
Christy frowned.
She’s right
, she thought. It had begun to make sense, like pieces fitting together in a puzzle, but Bobbie had just pointed out something that rescrambled the puzzle.
She tried to hide her discouragement as they walked into the house. “Come on, Bobbie. Let’s get something to eat.”
Bobbie shook her head. “I just want to lie down.”
“Good idea. I’ll turn off the phones so you won’t be disturbed. And while you’re resting, I have a couple of errands.”
Bobbie didn’t seem to hear what Christy was saying as she dragged herself into the guest room and sank onto the bed.
Would she be able to sleep? Christy wondered, watching Bobbie snuggle into the pillow. Or would she, like Christy, be tormented by fear and worry?
And the horrid image of Eddie’s body in the pickle barrel.
T he errands Christy had mentioned to Bobbie consisted of two things: going out to the storage unit, then trying to find Jack to warn him to get ready to be questioned.
Christy cut across the side streets and hit the back highway leading to Hornsby’s units. At the gates, she found a parking spot amid the jumble of parked cars. She recognized Joy McCall’s green Jeep Wrangler, and as she approached, she could see Joy behind the wheel, Valerie in the passenger seat, and Aunt Dianna in the back.
Joy thrust her head out the window. “Christy, we have some things to tell you.”
“What?”
Valerie leaned forward. “The dead guys girlfriend—I don’t remember her name—came in my salon yesterday to see if I had time to trim her hair. I was booked, but I told her to come back. She said she was looking for her boyfriend and went into the story of how he left the motel room and all. I had Jane in the chair doing a color, and she happened to be at the Blues Club that night. She noticed two strange guys sitting at the table next to her. After Eddie and his girlfriend left, the two guys put their headstogether whispering, and then they left. Jane and her friend were ready to leave too, so they paid their tab, and just as they were getting in their car, they spotted those strange guys getting into a black Mercedes.”
Joy grabbed Christy’s sleeve. “I nearly got hit by a black Mercedes as I was pulling out of Carrie’s Crafts. It came around the corner so fast it went over the curb. It had tinted windows, so I couldn’t see how many people were in it. I tried to get the numbers on the plate, but all I got was Tennessee before it whirled around the next corner. I almost called Deputy Arnold. I wish now that I had.”
“Well, it’s not too late,” Dianna spoke up from the backseat. “I heard this guy Eddie is a gambler. There’s no telling who else may have had reason to kill him. How is Bobbie?”
Christy shook her head. “Not good. She’s resting now.”
“They won’t let anyone inside the gate up there,” Joy said.
Christy gazed at the deputy from Panama City who stood guard at the closed gate. Her eyes moved slowly to Bobbie’s unit and the yellow crime-scene tape stretched across it. One didn’t often see that in Summer Breeze, and the sight cast a mood of horrid fascination.
A man in a truck with a Joe’s Plumbing sign on the door pulled up and leaned out his window. “I need to get to my unit,” he yelled.
The deputy shook his head. “No one is allowed in,” he said, loud and clear.
“Do you think he’s still there?” someone in the crowd asked. “Who?” asked another voice.
“You know. The…guy in the pickle barrel.”
“All right folks,” the deputy shouted to the crowd. “There’s nothing to see. The white van has come and gone and ‘he’ is no longer inside the unit.”
Sick at heart, Christy turned and walked back to her car. As she drove off, a tear slid
Bobbie didn’t share her enthusiasm. “But why bother framing me? I thought bookies made an example out of guys who didn’t pay their debts. Blood and gore is more their style.”
Christy frowned.
She’s right
, she thought. It had begun to make sense, like pieces fitting together in a puzzle, but Bobbie had just pointed out something that rescrambled the puzzle.
She tried to hide her discouragement as they walked into the house. “Come on, Bobbie. Let’s get something to eat.”
Bobbie shook her head. “I just want to lie down.”
“Good idea. I’ll turn off the phones so you won’t be disturbed. And while you’re resting, I have a couple of errands.”
Bobbie didn’t seem to hear what Christy was saying as she dragged herself into the guest room and sank onto the bed.
Would she be able to sleep? Christy wondered, watching Bobbie snuggle into the pillow. Or would she, like Christy, be tormented by fear and worry?
And the horrid image of Eddie’s body in the pickle barrel.
T he errands Christy had mentioned to Bobbie consisted of two things: going out to the storage unit, then trying to find Jack to warn him to get ready to be questioned.
Christy cut across the side streets and hit the back highway leading to Hornsby’s units. At the gates, she found a parking spot amid the jumble of parked cars. She recognized Joy McCall’s green Jeep Wrangler, and as she approached, she could see Joy behind the wheel, Valerie in the passenger seat, and Aunt Dianna in the back.
Joy thrust her head out the window. “Christy, we have some things to tell you.”
“What?”
Valerie leaned forward. “The dead guys girlfriend—I don’t remember her name—came in my salon yesterday to see if I had time to trim her hair. I was booked, but I told her to come back. She said she was looking for her boyfriend and went into the story of how he left the motel room and all. I had Jane in the chair doing a color, and she happened to be at the Blues Club that night. She noticed two strange guys sitting at the table next to her. After Eddie and his girlfriend left, the two guys put their headstogether whispering, and then they left. Jane and her friend were ready to leave too, so they paid their tab, and just as they were getting in their car, they spotted those strange guys getting into a black Mercedes.”
Joy grabbed Christy’s sleeve. “I nearly got hit by a black Mercedes as I was pulling out of Carrie’s Crafts. It came around the corner so fast it went over the curb. It had tinted windows, so I couldn’t see how many people were in it. I tried to get the numbers on the plate, but all I got was Tennessee before it whirled around the next corner. I almost called Deputy Arnold. I wish now that I had.”
“Well, it’s not too late,” Dianna spoke up from the backseat. “I heard this guy Eddie is a gambler. There’s no telling who else may have had reason to kill him. How is Bobbie?”
Christy shook her head. “Not good. She’s resting now.”
“They won’t let anyone inside the gate up there,” Joy said.
Christy gazed at the deputy from Panama City who stood guard at the closed gate. Her eyes moved slowly to Bobbie’s unit and the yellow crime-scene tape stretched across it. One didn’t often see that in Summer Breeze, and the sight cast a mood of horrid fascination.
A man in a truck with a Joe’s Plumbing sign on the door pulled up and leaned out his window. “I need to get to my unit,” he yelled.
The deputy shook his head. “No one is allowed in,” he said, loud and clear.
“Do you think he’s still there?” someone in the crowd asked. “Who?” asked another voice.
“You know. The…guy in the pickle barrel.”
“All right folks,” the deputy shouted to the crowd. “There’s nothing to see. The white van has come and gone and ‘he’ is no longer inside the unit.”
Sick at heart, Christy turned and walked back to her car. As she drove off, a tear slid
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