hand.
“Be careful. That porch is slippery.”
“I thought you’d be in bed,” I said, taking his hand and stepping into the warm kitchen.
“Couldn’t sleep until you got in.”
Chances were he’d already had three hours sleep in his recliner, but that was okay.
“How’s Luke?”
“About the same.” I had called from Oneonta and told Fred about Luke’s concussion. “They’re just keeping him for observation.”
Fred was hugging me, his arms inside my coat. He had on his old velour robe that smelled like Gain soap. I rubbed my cheek against it and considered going to sleep standing up.
“I’ve got to go to bed,” I said. “I’m beat.”
Fred followed me down the hall. “No sign of Virginia?”
“Nope.” I sat on the edge of the bed and kicked my shoes off. “The guy she ran off with is a snake handler, though.”
“What?”
“He’s a snake-handling preacher.” I pointed toward the bathroom door. “Hand me my nightgown and robe.”
“I thought he was a painter.”
“He is.” I started shucking clothes.
“How did you find that out?” Fred held out my gown and flannel robe.
“The woman in the ambulance told me. And the sheriff says he’s one of the best-known ones in north Alabama.”
“What sheriff?”
“Virgil Stuckey. The sheriff of St. Clair County. There was a body in the church and I think Sister’s smitten with him, the sheriff. They both seem smitten.”
“What do you mean, a body?”
“A woman’s body.”
My nightgown was on.
“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I said. And for what was probably the first time in sixty years, I went to sleepwithout washing my face and brushing my teeth and with my clothes in a pile by the bed. Jet lag is a killer.
Needless to say, I had a lot to explain to Fred in the morning. I woke up when I heard him in the shower and felt surprisingly rested. The sun was shining and there was no sign of the flurries of the night before. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and had French toast ready to cook when he came into the kitchen.
“A body?” Not even a “good morning.”
Two pieces of French toast and a couple of cups of coffee later, I had told him the main parts of the story.
“And Virginia and the preacher were gone? Her car wasn’t there?”
I hadn’t thought about Virginia’s car. I guess I had assumed that since she was the runee, she had left in the runner’s vehicle. Or was she the runner? At any rate, of course she would have taken her car and followed Holden Crawford. Monk Crawford.
“It wasn’t there,” I said. “Only his painting truck.”
“Sounds like she’s got herself in a mess.”
“God’s truth,” I agreed.
“You don’t think the dead woman could have been this Crawford guy’s wife, do you?”
“Too young. Bless her heart.” I could see the red hair cascading to the floor.
“Well, don’t you and Mary Alice get mixed up in this, honey. You stay away from those folks.”
“You don’t have a thing to worry about. I can’t even watch the Discovery Channel specials about snakes.”
He gave me a hug. “Call me when you get home with Luke.” He got a Lean Cuisine from the freezer for his lunch and left. That was when I turned on the computer and read Haley’s chatty E-mail.
The phone was ringing when I got out of the shower. I figured it would be Mary Alice so I was startled when a male voice said, “Mrs. Hollowell? This is Sheriff Stuckey.”
“Good morning, Sheriff.” Hmm. Last night it had been Virgil and Patricia Anne.
“I’m calling you because I didn’t want to disturb Mary Alice.”
“She does need her beauty sleep,” Mrs. Hollowell said.
“Not that I can see.”
How does Sister do this to men?
“But, Mrs. Hollowell, we’ve had something come up. Your cousin’s car has been found in Pulaski, Tennessee.”
“Virginia’s car?”
“Right. Mrs. Nelson’s. The license tag checks out to Mr. Nelson, but her stuff is in the glove compartment so we figured
“Be careful. That porch is slippery.”
“I thought you’d be in bed,” I said, taking his hand and stepping into the warm kitchen.
“Couldn’t sleep until you got in.”
Chances were he’d already had three hours sleep in his recliner, but that was okay.
“How’s Luke?”
“About the same.” I had called from Oneonta and told Fred about Luke’s concussion. “They’re just keeping him for observation.”
Fred was hugging me, his arms inside my coat. He had on his old velour robe that smelled like Gain soap. I rubbed my cheek against it and considered going to sleep standing up.
“I’ve got to go to bed,” I said. “I’m beat.”
Fred followed me down the hall. “No sign of Virginia?”
“Nope.” I sat on the edge of the bed and kicked my shoes off. “The guy she ran off with is a snake handler, though.”
“What?”
“He’s a snake-handling preacher.” I pointed toward the bathroom door. “Hand me my nightgown and robe.”
“I thought he was a painter.”
“He is.” I started shucking clothes.
“How did you find that out?” Fred held out my gown and flannel robe.
“The woman in the ambulance told me. And the sheriff says he’s one of the best-known ones in north Alabama.”
“What sheriff?”
“Virgil Stuckey. The sheriff of St. Clair County. There was a body in the church and I think Sister’s smitten with him, the sheriff. They both seem smitten.”
“What do you mean, a body?”
“A woman’s body.”
My nightgown was on.
“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I said. And for what was probably the first time in sixty years, I went to sleepwithout washing my face and brushing my teeth and with my clothes in a pile by the bed. Jet lag is a killer.
Needless to say, I had a lot to explain to Fred in the morning. I woke up when I heard him in the shower and felt surprisingly rested. The sun was shining and there was no sign of the flurries of the night before. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and had French toast ready to cook when he came into the kitchen.
“A body?” Not even a “good morning.”
Two pieces of French toast and a couple of cups of coffee later, I had told him the main parts of the story.
“And Virginia and the preacher were gone? Her car wasn’t there?”
I hadn’t thought about Virginia’s car. I guess I had assumed that since she was the runee, she had left in the runner’s vehicle. Or was she the runner? At any rate, of course she would have taken her car and followed Holden Crawford. Monk Crawford.
“It wasn’t there,” I said. “Only his painting truck.”
“Sounds like she’s got herself in a mess.”
“God’s truth,” I agreed.
“You don’t think the dead woman could have been this Crawford guy’s wife, do you?”
“Too young. Bless her heart.” I could see the red hair cascading to the floor.
“Well, don’t you and Mary Alice get mixed up in this, honey. You stay away from those folks.”
“You don’t have a thing to worry about. I can’t even watch the Discovery Channel specials about snakes.”
He gave me a hug. “Call me when you get home with Luke.” He got a Lean Cuisine from the freezer for his lunch and left. That was when I turned on the computer and read Haley’s chatty E-mail.
The phone was ringing when I got out of the shower. I figured it would be Mary Alice so I was startled when a male voice said, “Mrs. Hollowell? This is Sheriff Stuckey.”
“Good morning, Sheriff.” Hmm. Last night it had been Virgil and Patricia Anne.
“I’m calling you because I didn’t want to disturb Mary Alice.”
“She does need her beauty sleep,” Mrs. Hollowell said.
“Not that I can see.”
How does Sister do this to men?
“But, Mrs. Hollowell, we’ve had something come up. Your cousin’s car has been found in Pulaski, Tennessee.”
“Virginia’s car?”
“Right. Mrs. Nelson’s. The license tag checks out to Mr. Nelson, but her stuff is in the glove compartment so we figured
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