Murder on Edisto (The Edisto Island Mysteries) by C. Hope Clark Read Free Book Online

and followed the deputy.
    The only other homicide in this community she was aware of had been a domestic issue three years earlier when an outraged husband from New Jersey sliced open his wayward wife. Callie’s mother had called her about that event after not speaking to Callie for two months.
    The atmosphere of Edisto Beach wasn’t conducive to serious crime. The occasional robbery, yes. Alcohol-induced brawls, marijuana trippers here and there. All expected. But murder?
    “Ms. Morgan.” Seabrook waved her over after Raysor drove off. “Can we go in your house to take your statement, please?”
    “Sure.” She turned to Jeb. “You okay?”
    He nodded. “What about you? I mean, you knew Papa—”
    “Shush,” she replied, laying fingers across his lips. “Go be with your new friends. I’m good.”
    Jeb returned to a young crowd gathered under a palmetto that immediately swarmed him for info.
    Pride swelled in Callie at the maturity of her son, his effort to fill his dad’s shoes, and his ability to realize that his mother was anything but fine.
    She’d been a complete fool on the beach. She saw that now. But kicking into overdrive had helped her catch criminals. Fast, intense, focused. Now, however, she couldn’t exactly control the speed, or the steering.
    THE NEXT MORNING, Jeb hung around the house, chattering like a hyper chickadee about the previous day’s events. Events she preferred to ponder alone. Maybe she’d revisit the crime scene and scout for what others might have missed. But not with Jeb around. She’d always done her damnedest to not let her job cross Jeb’s path.
    In Boston, she’d fallen apart after a year of hunting John’s killer and pretending all was fine to Jeb. The obsession had eroded her ability to compartmentalize, organize, and dissect a crime. She couldn’t end the day without devising new strategy against the Zubovs. Vengeance muddled clarity.
    She moved from room to room, her son on her heels as she dusted, washed clothes, and settled her belongings amongst those already in place. Occasionally she glanced out the window at the yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze.
    “The kids I met said Papa Beach got shot with his own gun,” he said.
    She snapped towels, fresh from the dryer. “Jeb, how would they know? Quit with the amateur investigating. And get out from under my feet. I know what you’re doing, and I’m fine. I used to work in the middle of this kind of crap.”
    “Yeah, but . . . you know.”
    Lifting a stack of linens, she shoved them into his arms. “Are you spying for your grandparents? I’ll skin you for that. I don’t need a sitter.”
    He hesitated enough for her to see the yes in his eyes. She filled the dryer again and switched it on. “Go to the beach before I put you in the corner.” She waved at him dismissively, internally not wanting him to leave the house. “Meet somebody,” she said. “Maybe even a hot girl in some knock-out bikini.”
    He scowled. “My mom isn’t supposed to talk about hot girls. And since when do you want me out from under your own bodyguard protection?”
    Her son was too sharp. Finding a dead body next door, minutes after overcoming an anxiety attack, was ample reason for her overreaction yesterday. Today, however, she liked to think she controlled herself better. “If you take your phone and call me periodically, and stay around friends, I won’t worry so much.” She sighed. “I’m trying to give you space. College is only two months away, and I’m struggling with it.” She put the fabric softener and soap up on the shelf over the washer. “Stick around, however, and I’ll educate you on my dating secrets.”
    “You win.” His smile shone from a deeper place. “Don’t need a lesson on prehistoric social skills.” Bare feet slapping the oak floor, he disappeared into his bedroom to change. Shortly thereafter, he exited the house, locking the door as John had taught him.
    Callie poured