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By Root 821 0

Maybe a clerk or a page she aggravated? I couldn’t imagine any of the employees I’d seen at the library putting a rope around Nora’s neck, squeezing the life out of her, then dragging the body down to the lake. It took an awful lot of determination . . . and hate to drive a person to those measures. Then again, as I’d slowly learned over the last few years, perhaps everyone was capable of murder if put in the right circumstances. The why. That was always the most frightening, yet intriguing part of a murder, and as Gabe said, the unknowable part. He’d often said to me we can know the physical circumstances that lead up to and cause one human to take the life of another, but what we can never know is why this particular time, under these particular circumstances, the abused woman finally decides to fight back and kill her abuser, the younger brother who has suffered his older brother’s taunting insults for years decides to stab him, the robber decides that this time he’ll kill the convenience-store clerk for a bottle of wine and two packs of Camels.

“Be careful now, darlin’.” Ash’s smooth voice startled me. Before I could move away, his thumb brushed over the space between my eyebrows. “Concentratin’ like you are is going to put some ugly ole frown lines between those pretty little hazel eyes of yours.” He sat down in the padded mahogany chair across from me and crossed his legs. He wore tasseled leather loafers, a sand-colored silk shirt, and khaki wool slacks in a baggy forties style reminiscent of Clark Gable and Jimmy Stewart. A strand of hair fell rakishly across one amused blue eye, and I resisted the urge to reach over and brush it back. As obvious as his cocky posturing was, there was something about him that made a woman want to experience that intimate this-is-between-you-and-me half smile he bestowed like a coveted Mardi Gras doubloon on whoever struck his fancy. Guys like him made me want to chew glass, especially when I felt the magnetic pull to react like every other woman.

“I’m waiting for my cousin,” I said. “She’s from Arkansas, so I thought she’d enjoy the food here.”

He nodded. “Try the Brunswick Stew. It’s my grandmama’s recipe. And there’s Mississippi mud pie on the dessert menu today.” He flashed me a white smile.

“Sounds good.” I rubbed my thumb over the notebook in front of me.

“What brilliant thoughts are we recording today?” he asked, snatching the notebook from under my hand.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing for it a second too late.

He just grinned and flipped it open. I watched his face as he read the list. Thank goodness I hadn’t gone with my first inclination and listed reasons I thought each person could be guilty next to their names. His face slowly turned serious. He tossed the tablet on the table.

“What’s the list for?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, shrugging, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m just making notes for—” My mind went blank. I carefully ripped the pages out of the notebook trying to come up with something. Survival brain cells kicked in. “My opening speech Friday night. I’m going to thank all the people who served on the festival committee.” I was saved from further explanation by the lovely sound of Rita’s whiny drawl.

“Lordy, I’m about ready to melt clean away,” she complained, tip-tapping across the glossy wood floor wearing tiny white shorts, a matching cropped tank top with a red sequin heart over her right breast, and strappy backless sandals. “Thank heavens for that sweet ole gentleman next door who was kindly enough to give me a lift.”

“Mr. Treton?” I asked, amazed. “You talked Mr. Treton into giving you a ride?” My neighbor, as diligent as he was about watching over my place when I wasn’t there, never did anything out of the kindness of his heart. As always, I’d underestimated the power of Rita’s hormonal persuasion.

Ash jumped up and held out his chair. “Please, darlin’, take my seat and let me get you a cool drink.” He called out to a busboy cleaning off a table. “Jimmie, fetch us a couple of iced teas.” He turned to Rita. “Sweetened or unsweetened?