Read an Excerpt

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1

I love my family. I do. But there are times when I sincerely wish they would take a day off. Rest is not part of my grandma’s vocabulary. We won’t talk about the stir my brother Tim likes to cause. Or the nosey phone calls my sister Joan makes every day, letting me know that someone in the neighborhood watch just called her about something going on at the homestead.

The homestead is the large Victorian house I inherited when my mother died. The house is beautiful with three full floors of bedrooms rising above the wraparound porch. In fact, my best friend, Tasha, suggested it was the perfect size for a bed-and-breakfast.

What it really was, was the perfect size for my enormous family, which included fifty-two cousins. Mom had insisted in her will that I be given the house with the codicil that any member of my family could stay there when they needed to. Which meant that, while I might have been a newly single girl, I was rarely alone.

Lately my brother Tim, the last family member to live in the house, finally moved out.

That left only me and my best friend, Tasha; her son, Kip; and Kip’s rescue puppy, Aubrey. With Tasha and Kip staying in the attic suite, I had the second floor to myself—at least for now. Christmas was coming and along with the holiday was the massive influx of family looking for a reason to visit Grandma Ruth.

Grandma Ruth had brilliantly moved into a seniors-only high-rise apartment with only one bedroom. With the way my Grandma drove her indoor/outdoor scooter nobody dared sleep on her couch, or worse, her floor, lest they—intentionally or unintentionally—get run over. At least not when there was a five-bedroom house open for their use only a few blocks away.

My family—all five siblings plus seven aunts and uncles plus fifty-two cousins—knew I was a soft touch. As long as they respected my gluten-free kitchen they could come and go as they pleased and always find a soft bed and clean linen welcoming them.

When it came to my gluten-free bakery, Baker’s Treat, I was even more of a pushover. At first I took only Sundays off. I was nervous about being closed at all for fear I would lose customers. I mean, being a gluten-free bakery in the heart of wheat country was difficult enough without being closed when someone needed a cake. But my Grandma Ruth had told me a secret when I set up shop in my hometown of Oiltop, Kansas.

“Toni,” she said in her cigarette raspy voice, “people want what they can’t have. If you’re always available, they’ll take you for granted. I learned that the hard way.” Her blue eyes glittered. “Always limit what you offer. It keeps them coming back.”

Grandma Ruth was a genius—literally. She was a lifetime member of Mensa, an international club for people who score in the top 2 percent of the population on a standard IQ test. I learned early on that it paid to listen to Grandma’s advice—even if it seemed counterintuitive.

So it was that I closed the bakery on Sundays and Mondays. This Monday, I sat in the lobby of the Red Tile Inn, where Tasha Wilkes, my best friend and current roommate, was the manager. You see, the problem with having Mondays off was that everyone else didn’t. Luckily I knew that I could always come over to the inn and visit with Tasha while she worked.

“How’s Aubrey? Did he give you any trouble?” Tasha walked in carrying a box nearly as big as her.

Aubrey was the puppy Kip had rescued. “No, he’s great. I put him out in the yard. There isn’t a lot he can get into while I’m gone.” I curled up in a wingback chair in the lobby and used the Wi-Fi to Christmas shop from my tablet. The inn had a comfortable lobby with a gas fireplace, two overstuffed couches, three wingback chairs placed strategically around the fireplace, and a bookshelf that offered novels for anyone not attached to the Internet.

“I’m glad we got him a doghouse for days like today,” Tasha said and put the box down next to the front window.

Outside was gray and bitter cold, in keeping with a normal Kansas December. The ground was frozen and brown. The trees were bare and bleak against the eternally gray sky. It was the time of year when there may or may not be snow. Mostly there wasn’t snow, only bitter cold wind and dreary clouds.

“His doghouse is stuffed with straw, and he has a heated water bowl.” I flipped through pictures of gifts on my tablet. “I think he actually prefers the cold.”

“I have to agree,” Tasha said as she cut through the box tape to expose the contents. “It’s all that Pyrenees fur. Two coats and I’ve been vacuuming daily. Who knew a dog would shed so much?”

“I hear him walking around upstairs at night.”

“I know.” Tasha pulled out the first of many artificial tree limbs covered in fake green needles and fiber-optic wires. “It turns out they’re nocturnal. Which is fine. Trust me, after the incident in October I’m glad someone is on guard duty while we sleep. I’m sorry if he keeps you up.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Don’t worry, I like him. He’s sweet and I think Kip has really blossomed since Aubrey has been with us.”

“He has.” Tasha studied me. “If I had known that a dog would bring out the best in Kip, I would have gotten one sooner.”

“Don’t think like that,” I said. “Things happen when they do for a reason. Right?”

“I suppose.”

A fire crackled on fake logs in the fireplace across from my chair. It put out heat that reached my knees. The lobby smelled of cinnamon and pine-scented candles. Christmas music played softly as Tasha assembled the artificial Christmas tree.

“I can’t believe you’re done with your Christmas shopping,” I said. “I haven’t even started.”

Tasha shook her blonde curls. “I start my list in February and ensure I’m done by November first. The holidays are too hectic to think about shopping.”

“I’m not that organized.” I paged through the overstock website on the tablet. “Besides, no one knows what they want for Christmas until December, so buying in advance is worthless.”

Tasha pulled a crocheted penguin out of a box of ornaments. “You’re looking at it all wrong.”

“How so?” I drew my eyebrows together. Of course no one could tell since my red hair meant they were so light they were nearly nonexistent.

“I never worry about what they want in the moment. That’s too hard. Instead I keep an eye on the sales throughout the year and if I see something that reminds me of a person I buy it. Nine times out of ten I have a winner. Seriously, it’s about the people, not what’s popular at the time.”

“Nine times out of ten?” I teased.

“Well”—she stopped and put her right hand on her chin—“there was this time in high school. I was dating Lance Webb.”

“He was in Richard’s class, wasn’t he?” I could usually place people’s age by which of my siblings went through school with them. Richard was older than me, which made every boy in his class cool at the time.

“Yes,” Tasha said and sighed. “He was tall and athletic and had the prettiest blue eyes.”

“I remember him,” I said. “He was on the football team, right?”

“Yes, he wanted to be a quarterback, but Tim had a lock on that position even though he was two years younger, so he ended up a running back. I was so in love with him. I heard him tell someone he wanted to get a CD player for his car.”

“It wasn’t built-in?”

“Not back then—all he had was a tape player.”

“Oh my gosh, I remember tape players. . . .” I laughed. “How far we’ve come. I bet my nieces have no idea what a tape player is.”

“Kip does.” Tasha hung another ornament. “He’s been researching the history of recording from Alexander Graham Bell to today.”

“Let me guess, you bought Lance a CD player. . . .”

“Yes, I saved and saved and bought him a custom car player. I was so excited. I had it wrapped and stored in my closet for two months.”

“What happened?”

“Lance dumped me for Suzy Olds two weeks before Christmas.”

“Oh.” I sat up straight. “I remember that. She wore that gold dress with fishnet stockings to the Christmas dance.”

“He took one look at her and I no longer existed.” Tasha picked up a red-and-gold glass ball ornament.

“Did they ever get married?”

“No.” Tasha’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Suzy met a guy in college who had a pedigree and a trust fund.”

“Ha! Serves Lance right.” I leaned back into the chair. “What did you do with the CD player?”

“I sold it to Orland Metzger. It turns out it was a hot gift that year and all the stores were sold out. So I made a tidy profit.”

“See? You have the best Christmas luck. If I buy something early it goes on sale—deep discount—two weeks later. Or worse, for instance, I bought my niece Kelly a china tea set.”

“Oh, pretty.”

“It was the year she decided she was a feminist. She gave me a lecture about gender toys and how sexist tea sets were. Then she promptly put it in the Goodwill bag.”

“Ouch.”

“Right? Meanwhile her brother, my nephew Kent, wanted a toy he’d seen the week before Christmas. Nothing else would do.” I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t Kip influenced by all the Christmas toy commercials and the giant toy catalogs?”

“Kip is easier than most kids. He obsesses over one thing and doesn’t even see the need for anything other than what interests him at the time.”

“I wish my nieces and nephews were that easy.” I sighed. I came from a big family. When I said big, I meant big—unfashionably big. Grandma Ruth had eight children and most of them had eight or more children. I was lucky in that my mom and dad had only six kids. But of us six, my younger brother, Tim, and I were the only two left without kids. This meant we were expected to be the cool auntie and uncle who bought the good stuff at Christmas.

“Just get the kids board games. They have some really nice ones out these days, and it’s something different that they can do when the family gets together.” Tasha studied the tree and added another penguin to an empty spot.

“That’s Tim’s fallback gift.” I pursed my lips and eyed the latest techno gadget. “Do you think Grandma Ruth would want a mini tablet, or is her current tablet good enough?”

“Ha! It’s hard to tell with your grandma. I mean, it’s cool that she’s an early adopter, but it also means that she has everything the day it comes out.”

“Right?” I muttered. “What do you get someone who has everything?”

“Again, I don’t wait until three weeks before Christmas to start looking.”

“Yes, well, that’s good advice for next year, but doesn’t help me now.” I uncurled my jean-clad legs and stood to stretch. My green sweater hiked up as I raised my arms, exposing my pudgy white tummy. I yanked it down as I looked out the window. “Is Maria working the housekeeping shift today?”

“Yes, why?”

“She’s coming this way and she looks very pale. I hope she’s not getting sick.” I watched as the tiny Hispanic woman hurried across the parking lot. Her normally rich brown skin was ashen, and her happy chocolate eyes were wide with terror.

Tasha put down the ornament and went to the door, yanking it open. “Maria, what is it? Are you okay?”

“No, no, I am not okay,” Maria said as she puffed through the door. Her hands fluttered on her stomach. She wore a light gray housekeeping uniform and a thick cream sweater over it. Her legs were encased in white tights and her feet wore sturdy dark athletic shoes. “You have to call the police, Miss Wilkes.”

“Okay.” Tasha put her arm around Maria’s shoulders. “Why? Did someone hurt you?”

“Here, sit. You look like you might collapse.” I pulled a chair toward her as Tasha put her hand on Maria’s elbow and drew her to sit.

“Room two-oh-two,” Maria said breathlessly as she sat. “You must call the police. There is a very dead man in the bathtub.”

I looked at Tasha and she looked at me. “A dead man?”

“Yes, yes! Call the police.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit the speed dial number that went straight to the police. “911, how can I help you?”

“Sarah? This is Toni Holmes. I’m out at the Red Tile Inn and Maria Gomez says there’s a dead man in the bathtub of room two-oh-two.”

“Seriously?” Sarah Hogginboom worked the dispatch desk at the police station. She liked my pastries and had her boyfriend pick her up a gluten-free Danish whenever I was open.

“Seriously,” I said as Maria sat back and closed her eyes. Tasha went over to the watercooler and poured Maria a cup of cold water.

“Did you see the body?” Sarah asked.

“No.” I left Maria to Tasha’s care and walked out into the icy-cold air. “I’m heading over to the room now.”

“Don’t touch anything. The guys are on their way over.”

“I won’t touch anything. I learned my lesson.” I climbed the concrete steps to the second floor. The Inn was an older model motel where all the doors opened to the outside. Room 202 faced west, toward the clubhouse lobby, in the center of the U-shaped hotel.

The door to room 202 stood open. Maria had pushed her housekeeping cart just inside. There was a large canvas bag on the end of the cart to hold trash. There was a drawer for cleaning sprays and mops and rags and brushes, while the shelves held fresh sheets, towels, tissues, and toilet paper. The Red Tile was a no-frills motel a half mile from the turnpike entrance. It usually drew weary travelers, truckers, and, on rare occasion, people with family in town.

“I don’t see any obvious signs of struggle,” I said to Sarah and I stepped farther into the room. “The beds are made so whoever it is hadn’t slept yet. There’s a duffel filled with clothes and such on the floor by one of the beds.”

“Be careful,” Sarah said.

I pulled my key chain out of my pocket. I had a palm-sized can of pepper spray attached to it and put my finger on the trigger. “I am.” The bathroom was at the back of the room. The door stood open and I peered inside. The light was on. The white vinyl shower curtain was torn from the rod and tangled around the fully clothed body of a man who appeared to be in his thirties. He had on jeans and a dark tee shirt with the words ARE WE HAVING FUN YET? scrawled across in white. The man’s arms showed signs of needle marks. His mouth hung open, and blood pooled under his head. His blue eyes stared at the ceiling. White foam caked his mouth. His hair was thin with a few long strands of blond pasted down over a shiny dome where it wasn’t coated in brownish-red blood.

“Toni?” Sarah’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He looks pretty dead. Do I need to check for a pulse?”

“No, the guys should be there any second. Can you hear the sirens?”

I paused, trying to sort the sound of my pounding heart from the rest of the room. Somewhere music played. The announcer said it was radio station 102.9. I carefully walked out, one foot in front of the other, following the same path I had walked in. The television was off. The clock radio on the night stand blinked, revealing the source of the music.

When I got to the doorway I heard the sirens. “I can hear them,” I said.

“Good. Stay on the line with me until they get there.”

“Okay.” I watched as a police car pulled into the parking lot followed by an ambulance. I waved my arms to let them know where I was. It wasn’t hard to see since it was after noon and most of the hotel was cleared out for the day. Checkout time was 11:00 A.M. and check-in time was at 3:00 P.M., so we were at the odd housekeeping time between occupants.

Not too many people spent more than one night at the Red Tile. It was more of a stopover hotel than a destination.

Officer Calvin Bright climbed out of the police car. He nodded toward me and headed up the stairs.

“I’m going to hang up now,” I said to Sarah. “Thanks.”

“Okay,” Sarah’s voice said. “Toni?”

“Yes?”

“Take care of you.”

I could detect the concern in her voice. “I will,” I said. “I’m pretty sure this one isn’t linked to me. Not this time.”

“I certainly hope so. I’m starting to dread hearing your voice on the line.”

“I know,” I said. “I know.” I hung up as Officer Bright came around the corner. Calvin was a good-looking guy with brown hair and thoughtful brown eyes. There was a calmness about him that came from years of knowing he was able to take down any bad guy. He was also dating Tasha. Which made him a real hero in my eyes as she had gone out with so many losers before him. Officer Bright treated my best friend like a princess. I had to give the guy props for that.

“Toni.” He nodded his welcome like most guys do.

“Hi, in here.” I waved toward the open door. “Maria found him.”

Officer Bright stopped inches from me and the door. His dark gaze studied me. “Did you go inside?”

“Yes, I had Sarah on the line when I did,” I said and clutched my phone in one hand and the pepper spray in the other. “I didn’t touch anything.”

“Okay. Stay here.” He held out his hand palm-up and then pulled out his gun and stepped inside.

I could have told him it was clear, but I thought he needed to figure that out on his own. So I hugged myself against the bitter cold and leaned on the warm brick wall outside the door.

An ambulance crew had arrived right behind Calvin. They made their way up the steps.

“Hey, Toni.” Pat Sheridan dragged a stretcher behind him in one hand and his medical bag in the other. Kathy Neal lifted the back end of the stretcher and helped him maneuver it around the corner.

“Hey, Pat. Hey, Kathy.” I acknowledged the EMTs. “He’s in there.” I jerked my thumb toward the open door.

“Are you okay? Did you find him?” Kathy asked.

“I’m fine, and no, I didn’t find him. Maria did.” I sent her a small smile. “Tasha’s taking care of Maria, and I’m here waiting for you.”

“Does Maria need us to check on her?” Pat asked as he stepped over the threshold.

“No, I think she’s fine. Just a bit of a shock is all.”

“We’ll check her out before we leave.” Pat disappeared into the room, dragging the stretcher. Kathy followed behind.

A second squad car pulled up beneath me. The lights flashed opposite Officer Bright’s car, creating a frenzy of flashing blue and red. Officer Joe Emry stepped out of the car. He hitched his gun belt up on his skinny hips and looked around.

“Up here,” I called from the railing.

“I knew that.” Officer Emry cleared his throat. “I’m checking for anything suspicious.” He wandered around the lower deck of rooms for a while.

I rolled my eyes. Officer Emry meant well, but he had the brains of a gnat. My family called him Barney Fife. He was a skinny guy on a power trip that came with wearing a badge in a small town like Oiltop. At least Officer Bright was first on scene. As I said, Calvin was a large bear of a man with a killer square jaw. A big difference from the giant Adam’s apple on toothpicks that was coming up the steps. A third car pulled up and Officer Phil Strickland stepped out.

Officer Strickland was a twenty-year veteran of the police force. He rarely came out from behind the desk, so I was surprised to see him here. Then I remembered that Grandma Ruth said Strickland had started campaigning for Hank Blaylock’s job as chief of police. As far as Grandma was concerned Hank wasn’t going anywhere. But it did answer the question as to why Strickland was there. I watched him walk over to Officer Emry and speak to him before turning and heading toward the stairs.

The odd part was that Officer Strickland never even looked up. He must have been familiar enough with the Red Tile to know where room 202 was without needing any direction. I rubbed my arms and shivered in the cold. Officer Strickland came around the corner and stopped next to me. He was about six feet tall, with gray hair and brown eyes. He wore dark dress pants, a white shirt, and a black tie under his leather coat. His feet were encased in black leather cowboy boots, and he wore a Stetson hat.

“What happened?” His voice was as smooth as his expression.

“Maria opened the room to clean and found him. I called 911.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you touch anything?”

“No.”

“Good.” He went inside, leaving me to blow on my blue fingers.

Next to arrive was my friend—most of the time—and local reporter Candy Cole. Candy’s dark blue Toyota whipped into the parking lot at a speed that should have gotten her a ticket. Except that most of the Oiltop police force was busy with the dead guy. Not that it mattered what the police were doing. Candy always drove like a bat out of hell. She never got a ticket. I suspected it was because she bribed the police force with regular breakfast donuts, bagels, and assorted pastries. I knew this because she bought them from me.

That, too, had a purpose. You see, neither Candy nor any of the officers needed to eat gluten-free. Candy could have gotten her sweets anywhere and probably had in the past. But recently she had decided that I was a magnet for news and she was going to stop by every day and ensure I didn’t discover something she needed to know about.

She stepped out of her car, her cell phone camera rolling. “Hey, Toni.” She waved up at me. “Did you find the body?”

I waved. “No, Maria did. She’s with Tasha in the lobby.”

“Thanks!” Candy headed toward the clubhouse. Her champagne blonde bob was camera perfect. She was my height—around five foot seven—in four-inch killer heels. Today she wore a trench coat against the bitter cold wind. All she needed was a fedora to look like a 1940s Hollywood star.

I shivered and turned back to the room. “I’m going to the clubhouse,” I called in to the busy crime scene. The contrast to the inside and the outside struck me as huge. Inside was warm, dim, and stinky. Outside was bright sunshine, ice-edged wind, and the fresh scent of snow. How it could smell of snow on a bright cloudless day had always baffled me, but it did.

“Don’t talk to anyone until you’re interviewed,” Officer Emry said behind me.

“Candy’s here,” I said as I stepped back out into the cold.

“I saw her,” he said and sniffed. “Don’t tell her anything until we get your statement.”

“Okay.” I shrugged. “You know Grandma Ruth would kill me if I talked to Candy first.” Grandma had been the county’s top reporter in the day. She was officially retired but still wrote a daily blog. A blog that was meant to scoop the press—especially Candy. It was a competition between the two to see who could do a better job of reporting quickly and accurately.

“Don’t talk to your grandma, either.” Officer Emry narrowed his eyes and swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck.

“Emry?” Officer Bright stepped out of the tiny bathroom. “Did you bring a camera?”

“Yes.” He raised his hand and a digital camera dangled by its string. “I’m ready to record the crime scene.”

“Better get started,” Officer Strickland said, his tone at once dismissive and authoritarian. “The EMTs want to take the body to the morgue.”

“I’ll be in the lobby when you need me,” I said and pointed toward the other building.

“I’ll be over there in a few minutes to take statements.” Officer Bright nodded. “Do me a favor while you’re down there.”

“Sure, what?”

“Find out who the room was registered to,” he said. “See if Tasha has a camera on the parking lot. If we can find footage of whoever else was in the room it would be very helpful.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said. The trip down the stairs and across to the lobby was short and quick. Spurred on by my nearly frozen feet, I rushed into the lobby and went straight for the fireplace to warm my hands.

“Where’s your coat?” Candy asked. “It’s twenty degrees out there.”

“I left it hanging.” I pointed to the wrought iron coat tree next to the door. “I wasn’t thinking about the cold when I left.”

“I bet you weren’t.” Candy made a note in her notebook. Her bright pink planner had notepaper and a pen always handy. “Can you tell me what happened? What’d you see when you got to the room?”

“You know I can’t say anything.” I rubbed my hands together and held them out to the heat.

“She has to ask,” Tasha said as she came out from the office next to the reception desk. “I told her we couldn’t tell her anything until the police took our statements.”

“A girl has to try,” Candy said. She raised her hand and snapped a cell phone photo of me warming my hands.

“Hey,” I protested and grabbed a tissue. The difference between hot and cold had left me with a runny nose. The Christmas tree twinkled in silent disapproval. “No pictures.”

“We’re in a public place.” Candy snapped a second picture.

Tasha stepped in between her camera and me. “Oh, stop it. Toni didn’t do anything but call the police. I know. She was with me all morning.”

“Fine, let me talk to Maria.” Candy headed toward the office.

“No.” Tasha put her hands on her hips and stopped the overzealous reporter. “The office is private property and off-limits.”

“Oh, come on, you know I’ll be talking to Maria whether it’s now or later,” Candy said.

“I’m opting for later,” Tasha said and pointed toward the lobby door. “Why don’t you go bug the cops?”

“It looks like they’re bringing out the body,” I said and pointed with my chin. The lobby windows revealed a flurry of activity.

Candy hurried out to capture pictures.

“That was convenient timing.” Tasha sent me a look.

“Calvin needs to know who the room was registered to and if you have any security footage.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Tasha’s baby blue gaze grew concerned. “It’s not good news, Toni.”

“No?” I drew my eyebrows together. “I didn’t recognize the dead guy. . . .”

“Good,” Tasha said. “That’s what I thought when I saw your face. I was worried, but when you didn’t look stricken I figured whoever had died in that room was not who was registered.”

A bad feeling crept down my spine. “Who’s the room registered to?”

“Your brother, Tim.”

CHAPTER 2

“Oh no.” I sat down hard on the couch closest to the fireplace.

“I know.” Tasha took my hands in hers and rubbed them. “With your brother’s juvenile record, this doesn’t look good.”

“I don’t understand.” I cocked my head. “Tim signed a lease on a new place. He moved out of the homestead a month ago. He had his life together.”

“I wasn’t working last night so I really don’t know what happened, but there’s a signature on the registration,” Tasha said. She pulled out the credit card stub. It had Tim’s name and a bold scrawl across the top.

“I’m going to call him.” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts until I came to Tim’s, then I hit CALL.

“If I were you, I’d call Brad, too. Tim’s going to need a lawyer.” Tasha tucked the receipt back into the register drawer. “I can’t hide this from the police—or Calvin. I respect him too much, plus I’d lose my job. It’s bad enough that I told you to call Brad. Calvin’s going to be pretty mad when he finds out.”

“Don’t tell him.”

“I think I’m in love with him,” Tasha said, her big eyes filled with trepidation.

“Oh,” I said and gave her a big hug. “That’s great.”

“I love you more,” she said. “It’s why I told you to call Brad. Now go make that call.”

“Okay,” I said and stepped away from my friend.

“Hello?” Tim’s voice sounded tired on the other end of the phone. I turned from Tasha and walked to the farthest corner of the lobby.

“Tim, it’s me, Toni. Are you okay?”

“Sure.” He yawned. “Why? You know I work third shift. This is the middle of my night.”

“Did you pay for a room at the Red Tile Inn?” I asked.

“What? No . . . Why would I do that? I just moved into my new place.”

“Where were you last night?” I watched as Officer Bright instructed Officer Emry to stand guard over the room.

“Geeze, Toni.” Tim yawned again. “You’re not Mom, you know.”

“I know.” I switched ears as I followed Officer Bright’s progress down the steps and across the parking lot. “This is important. Do you have an alibi for last night?”

“An alibi—what are you talking about? I was at work.”

“Are there witnesses?”

“Toni—”

“Listen carefully.” I spoke fast, doing my best to get it all out before Officer Bright entered the lobby. “There’s been a murder at the Red Tile Inn.”

“What? When? Who?”

“I think last night,” I said. “Maria found the body about an hour ago. I called you because the room was registered in your name.”

“What?”

“Officer Bright is going to find out that the room was registered to you and then they’ll be calling you in for questioning. So please, whatever you do, have an alibi. I’m going to call Brad right now.”

“Toni, this is a bad joke to play on a man who’s gotten only four hours of sleep.”

“I’m not joking. I’ve got to go. Don’t talk to anyone until Brad gets there.” I hung up on my brother as Officer Bright stepped into the lobby. I smiled at him. He nodded and headed to where Tasha worked at the counter.

I turned my back on him and hit Brad’s number on my cell phone.

“Ridgeway and Harrington Attorneys at Law,” Brad’s receptionist, Amy Jones, said. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, Amy,” I said. “This is Toni Holmes. I need to speak to Brad. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“Um, okay, hold on. Let me see if I can find him.”

She put me on hold and the Muzak played in my ear. I glanced over and saw Tasha handing Officer Bright the room receipt. My heartbeat picked up. “Come on, Brad,” I whispered. I turned my back on the officer and Tasha. If he wanted to catch my attention he’d have to call out or come get me.

“Brad Ridgeway.” Brad’s voice was a deep rumble and a comfort. Back in the day, Brad was a high school jock. The tall, handsome, deadly blond kind with electric blue eyes and a killer body. He’d played everything from football to baseball but had excelled at basketball and gone to KU on a basketball scholarship before earning his law degree.

Brad had been crush-worthy in high school and continued to be crush-worthy as a grown-up lawyer with his own practice. There were simply two things wrong with that thought: 1) I wasn’t ready to date after my divorce from hell and 2) Brad was my lawyer. You should never get involved with your lawyer. Even if he smells divine.

“Hi, Brad, it’s Toni.”

“Hey, Toni, what’s up? Amy said your call was life-or-death.”

“Maria found a dead man in room two-oh-two of the Red Tile Inn,” I said. “I’m here with Tasha.”

“Please tell me you’re not a suspect again.”

“I’m not a suspect.”

“Good.”

“Tim is.”

“Oh.” He blew out a breath. “That’s not good.”

“Listen, can you go to Tim’s place?” I stared out and up at the open door of room 202. “I think he may be in real trouble.”

“Ms. Holmes, who are you talking to?” Officer Bright asked over my shoulder.

“Got to go.” I hung up the phone before Brad could answer. I felt as guilty as a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. My face heated up. With my being a redhead, my porcelain skin would never let me get away with anything. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Who were you calling, Toni?” Officer Bright took in my heated face. “Was that your brother Tim?”

“Um, no.” I shook my head. “Why would I call my brother?” I widened my eyes and tried to look innocent.

“According to the hotel registration, room two-oh-two was rented by your brother. Have you seen him?” Officer Bright tilted his head. His brown gaze studied me.

It made me very aware of each facial tic. I’m certain my skin was blotchy with guilt. “No, I haven’t seen him today,” I replied as honestly as possible. “He works third shift at FedEx and is usually sleeping at this time of day.” I swallowed. “You say the room was registered to Tim?”

“That’s what the record shows,” Calvin said. “Does this look like his signature?” He held out the slip of paper.

“Well, now, I’m not sure.” I studied the paper. “I suppose it could be . . . but I’m not a handwriting expert. Really I haven’t seen Tim’s signature in a while.” I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. “You don’t think my brother was involved in this murder, do you?”

“Being as the room was registered in his name, he is a person of interest. Do you know where he is?”

“I suppose he’s home sleeping.” I shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. He moved out of my house last month.”

“Can I have his new address?”

“Sure. Listen, you can call him if you want. . . .” I pulled up Tim’s number on my cell phone.

“No need. Give me the address and I’ll send Emry over to ensure your brother’s still alive.”

I blinked rapidly. “Wait—you think Tim could be dead?”

“Most likely not,” Officer Bright reassured me. “But we should check on his well-being, and if he’s good, then we need to speak to him.”

“I sincerely doubt Tim killed anyone,” I said in defense of my baby brother.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Officer Bright said. “Either way I need you to stay out of the investigation, Ms. Holmes. Can you do that?”

“It depends, Officer Bright.”

“On what?” He put his hands on his hips.

“On how much trouble Tim’s in. I know my brother. He wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Officer Bright said.

“Oh, I’m right,” I said. “I’ll bet my life on it.”

“This time we’ll hope you don’t have to go that far.”

CHAPTER 3

“What’s the scuttlebutt?” Grandma Ruth drove her scooter up the ramp on the side porch and onto the gray-painted floorboards of the wide Victorian porch that wrapped around my house.

“Tim’s at the police station being questioned,” I said from my seat on the porch swing. The porch had a robin’s-egg blue–painted ceiling. The siding on the house was clapboard and painted white, with the posts and eaves painted maroon and forest green in the tradition of the painted ladies of the time it was built.

Grandma Ruth frowned, her freckled skin bunched around her mouth. Grandma had been five foot eight, but time and bad joints had her hunched over to a little over five feet two inches. Today she wore her orange-red hair in a short cap of permed curls. Her black jacket was puffy from the feather filling. Her hands were covered by black knit gloves. She wore a bright printed skirt with little penguins dancing across a navy blue background. Her kneesocks were thick white wool and she wore white and navy athletic shoes.

A dark brown fedora perched atop her head. Her blue eyes sparkled. “Did you call Brad?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s with Tim.”

“Well, it’s freezing out here. We can either sit out here while I have a cigarette or we can go inside and warm up by the fireplace.”

“I vote we go in,” I said and got up slowly. “It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

“I heard, they’re calling for six inches,” Grandma said as she drove her scooter along the porch behind me.

I opened the front storm door and then the white panel door and let her go inside first. She darn near ran over my foot with her scooter. “Hey!”

“Sorry,” Grandma said almost gaily as she waved her hand in the air. “You need to make the door bigger. Handicap accessible,” Grandma said as she motored her way into the foyer.

My mother had died the previous spring of cancer complications. Like I said, it was just me and Tasha and Kip living here now. Tim had moved out. Grandma lived in the senior care apartments on Central. My other brother, Richard, and his family lived in Washington State. My sisters Joan and Rosa lived within fifty miles of Oiltop and had the habit of popping over whenever they needed something—like space from their own broods. Or a babysitter. Or a party caterer. At least Eleanor lived in California and rarely showed up unannounced.

“You usually park the scooter outside,” I said and closed the door behind me. The floor bounced as Aubrey came running through the foyer to see who was coming in. The pup made a flying leap into Grandma’s lap. She laughed until she coughed. I took off my mittens, hat, and coat and hung them up on the coat tree in the foyer.

The house was over a hundred years old, and while it had been remodeled almost every ten years, there were rooms still stuck in the seventies. Then again, when you had a house as big as this one, there were a lot of rooms to remodel. Generally by the time you finished updating the whole house it was time to start over.

This explained the 1970s take on vintage Victorian den that now resembled a bordello on crack. It screamed outdated, from the dark red and cream velvet wallpaper to the dark wood and green tile around the fireplace.

“Grandma, no scooters on the carpet!” I warned her as she started to turn into the den.

“Geeze you’re fussy.” Grandma hit the brakes, leaving skid marks on the polished wood floors of the hallway. The house had a central foyer with the original wood floors. To the left was a formal parlor that opened into the den. To the right was the sweeping staircase. Behind the staircase and across from the den was the formal dining room. A tiny half bath was tucked in between the den and the eat-in kitchen at the back of the house.

“What? I’m not fussy. That carpet is close to a priceless antique,” I joked. The carpet in the den was a deep green shag from the era before I was born. Over the years Mom had covered it with a variety of area rugs, so the center of the room was practically pristine flooring. Too nice to rip up and throw away just to update a room.

“Fine, I suppose a little walk won’t kill me.” Grandma pushed Aubrey off her lap and grunted as she climbed off her Scootaround senior scooter. The scooter took up most of the room in the hallway and would not have fit through the door to the den anyway. If she really wanted to scoot into the den she would have to go around and enter through the front room, where the pocket doors were wider. I suspected that was Grandma’s real reason for giving in and walking.

She ambled over to the brocade- and velvet-trimmed love seat. “What do you have to eat?” She sat down with a humph and I noted the dust that puffed out.

“I have gluten-free lasagna I can heat up. I take it you didn’t eat dinner.”

Grandma frowned at me and took off her fedora. “They were serving some kind of casserole at the senior center. It looked oddly gray.”

“No worries, I’ll heat something up. Do you want salad?”

“Have you ever known me to turn down food?” Grandma called after me. “Put it in front of me and I’ll eat it.”

Which she did on a regular basis, thus adding to her ample size. I loved Grandma, but she had never been a small woman. Once when I was very young she had lost over 150 pounds and even gone so far as to have a face-lift to get rid of the loose skin that comes with such a large loss of weight.

“They called it a face-lift.” Grandma would tell the story with a twinkle in her eye. “But they lifted everything from the belly button up.” Her orange eyebrows would wiggle. “I lost nearly thirty pounds of skin and got a boob lift in the process.”

Grandma Ruth was an old flapper with a wicked sense of humor. Over the years she had gained back all the weight and more. She would tell you she was old, so what did size matter?

“Is Bill coming?” I popped my head into the den. Bill was Grandma’s boyfriend. A taxidermist she had met in an art class.

“No, his granddaughter had a play thing in Augusta,” Grandma said and settled into the couch. “My fingers are cold.”

“I’ll turn on the fire.” I put the key in the floor and turned on the gas, lighting the fireplace. “Let me have your coat.”

I took Grandma’s outer garments as the pup settled in her lap. “Aubrey, get down,” I commanded. The puppy looked from me to Grandma and back to me. “No dogs on the furniture.”

“What kind of rule is that?” Grandma asked as she petted Aubrey.

“A good rule to enforce now, when he’s little. Especially if he grows to be the hundred-and-ten-pound dog the vet thinks he’ll be.” I looked at Aubrey and snapped my fingers. “Down. Off.”

Grandma pushed him and the pup reluctantly climbed down.

“Good boy,” I said and turned on my heel. I hung Grandma’s coat and hat in the hall. Then I popped the lasagna into the oven to reheat. If it were just me I would have heated it in the microwave, but Grandma liked it reheated the old-fashioned way—in the oven.

I don’t blame her. There was something about the microwave that dried out food. I fixed us both bowls of salad and poured Grandma a cup of coffee, placed it all on a tray, and took it into the den.

Funny, but I swear Aubrey had heard me coming and climbed out of Grandma’s lap again. I narrowed my eyes at him. He did a turn and lay down at Grandma’s feet.

“I can’t believe you gave Candy the scoop on the murder,” Grandma chided me when I reentered the den.

“I didn’t give her the scoop.” I set the tray down and picked up a bowl of salad, sat down in a flowered wingback chair. “She listens to the police scanner.”

“I saw her article on the front page of the afternoon Oiltop Times.” Grandma pouted. “She says you called the police when Maria found the body.”

“I did.”

“You could have called me right after.” Grandma gave me the narrowed eye of guilt.

“There was no time.” I settled back into my chair and took a nice forkful of salad. “I was lucky to call Brad before Officer Bright could stop me.” I shoved salad in my mouth so I had an excuse not to talk.

“We need some kind of text signal,” Grandma muttered and smothered her coffee in artificial sweetener and a dash of cream. Then she picked up her own bowl of salad. “Like 411 or something, so I know to come hunt you down.”

I chewed and swallowed. “I was at the Red Tile Inn. How would you have known where to find me?”

“There’s such a thing as the senior network in this small town.” Grandma’s blue eyes twinkled. “I’m telling you that if you sent me a simple 411 text I’d be able to find you anywhere, anytime, within five minutes. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about the cops. It would simply be your old grandma, showing up as planned.”

“Snapping pictures and writing in her notebook,” I said and forked more salad in my mouth.

“Everyone in town knows I carry my notebook everywhere. Once a newswoman, always a newswoman.” Unlike me, Grandma had no qualms about talking with her mouth full of salad.

“Are you telling me that when Candy is in her nineties, she’ll be running around with her computer tablet in hand, taking notes?”

“That’s right.” Grandma nodded and waved her fork, sending lettuce flying around the room, much to the pup’s delight. “Once a newswoman, always a newswoman.”

“Then how come you don’t have a police scanner?”

“I had one a few years back, but Bill said it kept waking him up.”

I winced and put my salad down on the table. “Grandma, I don’t want to know that Bill spends the night with you.”

“Oh, he doesn’t. The police scanner kept disturbing his afternoon nap.”

Not that the image of chubby Bill, with his shock of white hair and round jelly belly, napping at Grandma’s was much better. “You’re getting soft if you choose Bill over the news,” I pointed out as I rose to check on the lasagna.

“If you dated, you would do things for your man, too.” Grandma huffed.

“I’m still working through the trauma of my divorce,” I said as I stepped out of the room. Mom’s death had come on the heels of my divorce from Eric. I had come home from work early to find him naked in my bed with his best friend’s wife. I was less disturbed by his behavior than I was by the idea that I had let him dupe me. It had been less than a year since I signed the divorce papers. I still didn’t trust myself to make smart choices when it came to men.

I plated the lasagna and took it into the den. “Brad tells me the police grilled Tim for three hours.” I snapped my fingers to catch the dog’s attention and then pointed at the living room. The rule was no dogs in the area of food. I’d been lenient with the salad, but I wasn’t going to tempt him with the casserole.

“Your brother had nothing to do with that murder,” Grandma said and slurped her coffee.

“Well, I know that and you know that, but Chief Blaylock has no other leads at this time.”

“That’s because it takes six months to get evidence back from the county lab. Real life is nothing like those crime shows on television,” Grandma said around a forkful of lasagna.