Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) by Linda Lovely Read Free Book Online Page A

septuagenarian with faked
nonchalance. The retired professor of etymology and his wife, Claire, moved to
the island when deer outnumbered people. Six months ago, he’d buried Claire, a
lovely lady who succumbed to Alzheimer’s. A lot of people dismissed Bride as a
nutter, but I admired him. He insisted on caring for his wife at home, even
though his devotion took a heavy toll.
    His white-hot hatred of Dear’s developer stemmed from a
letter he received a year ago revoking the couple’s club membership. To
maintain a semblance of normal life, Dr. Bride occasionally took his wife out
for supper. One night, she hallucinated the waiters were armed gunmen and
briefly freaked. The club’s tactless response earned an ardent enemy.
    The manure in the back of Dr. Bride’s buggy heavily scented
the air. As he inserted his shovel in the steamy pile, I placed a hand on his
shoulder. He spun toward me, his shovel raised like a club. For a moment, I
feared he’d bonk me. His greasy gray hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in
days. His bloodshot eyes darted wildly as if searching for unseen demons.
    “Jack, please don’t do this. If they call the sheriff, he’ll
cart you to jail.”
    Dr. Bride lowered his smelly load. “Oh, it’s you.” His gaze
bored into mine.
    He looked me up and down, taking in my purple pantsuit,
considerably uptown from my usual T-shirt and shorts attire. “You’re not
joining them, are you? I heard they were having some fancy banquet. Celebrating
their butchery of our island. Gathering to shovel more crapola. So I decided to
do likewise. Let the bastards step in it. Let ’em reek.”
    I touched the hand gripping the shovel. “You’re angry. But,
Jack, if you go to jail, who’s left to apply pressure? Try to keep them honest?
There are better ways to protest. Sic DHEC on them. Get the university
involved.”
    I squeezed his hand.
    “It’s Claire’s birthday,” he said softly. A tear rolled down
his cheek.
    “Think what Claire would have wanted. Go home, Jack.”
    He nodded, head down, shoulders stooped. Slowly he got in
his cart and slipped away, leaving only a few shovels’ worth of manure to
decorate the marble-tiled portico.
    “You’re a wonder.” Janie grinned. “What did you say to the
old coot?”
    “Hey, how about a little compassion?” I snapped. “He’s not
an old coot, just distraught. His crusade’s a way to deal with his grief.”
    “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be flip. Let’s find someone to hose
off the tile.”
    Figuring we might nab some kitchen workers taking a smoke
break, we meandered around to the side entrance. We hadn’t walked far when
Janie grabbed my arm.
    “Look over there. What in hell has gotten into everyone? It
looks like Sally may take off one of her stilettos and hammer it through Gator’s
head.”
    A spotlight used to accent the club’s frou-frou landscaping
spilled light on Sally’s rage-reddened face. Often she played the Southern
belle, shamelessly flattering her senior partner. Tonight, though, she was
giving Gator what-for, poking a red-lacquered fingernail in his chest and
adopting his curse-laced lexicon. The “Goddammit” and “Summabitch” seasonings
rang clear across the yard, but not the conversational meat.
    Janie collared an unlucky club employee and sent him to
scoop the poop.
    “Let’s get to the banquet room,” she muttered. “This better
not be a preview. I didn’t work my fanny off organizing this shindig for them
to pull this crap.”
    We entered the lounge adjacent to the banquet room. Though
things seemed peaceful, Janie stiffened and moaned. “Oh great, Gator brought
his wife. Bea was supposed to be out of town. Wait till Sally sees her. If you
thought she was mad before…”
    “Don’t you like Sally? I thought you two got along.”
    “We do,” Janie answered. “For a while, Bea carped at Gator
to fire me. Didn’t want him to spend so much time with another woman .
Said a male assistant lent more