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

feel they won this one. I’m telling you, there hasn’t been as much as a whiff of your name in twelve months.” He sucked on the gum. “You still seeing someone about the episodes, or are you over them?”
    “I’m better now,” she lied, suddenly feeling the need to don her sneakers, hit the flat sand, and let eight-minute miles push the paranoia out of her system. She’d left her doctors in Boston. Why pay them two hundred dollars an hour when she could call someone for free who actually understood?
    “What can I do?” he finally asked.
    She outlined her scar with a finger, knowing the raised eight-inch length and half-inch width from memory. Her constant reminder of when her life fell off its axis. What could he do? Heaven help her, but she almost wished he’d come down and be that rock-steady assurance that a phone call couldn’t offer. “Can you run a check on Henry Beechum? And do another on his son, Pauley. He’s maybe five years older than me, lives in Kissimmee, Florida. I vaguely recall him having a history of trouble. He used Papa for little more than a bank.”
    “Sure. What else can I do?”
    “You’re doing it,” Callie said low. “Just being there and not brushing me off as a dimwit.”
    “Just a friend doing friend-stuff,” he said.
    She heard a knock and a man speak in the background. “You probably need to take that.”
    “No, I don’t.” With a half-muted voice, he told somebody he’d be with them in a moment. “Call me any time you like. How’d you end things with the local cops?”
    “Like I said, the county mounty’s all bluster. But Officer Seabrook’s nice.”
    “Really?”
    “Not like that, you oaf.”
    “Okay, okay, but it might be time you were wined and dined, sweetheart.”
    Callie blushed, and she was glad he couldn’t see her. “You’ll call me if you hear anything on the street, right?”
    “Of course.” He coughed. “Let me know when you’re up for company down there. Never been to a Southern shore.”
    “It’s called a beach, Stan, and I will.”
    “Take care, Chicklet.”
    She didn’t know what she’d do without these calls. He didn’t call her crazy. He didn’t talk as if she were afflicted. He’d known John and felt her pain.
    She hung up, missing the attentiveness of a man so damn much, even if he was married.
    Then she reassembled her weapon.
    Chapter 5
    CALLIE JUMPED AT the rapid-fire knock on her front door, as if the visitor had read her crossing-the-line thoughts about Stan.
    “Hey, neighbor!” A female voice shouted as the handle was tested. “Anybody in there? Why’s the door locked?”
    Who the hell . . . Callie walked over and peered past the clear decorative rolling wave etched in the door’s beveled window.
    The antsy visitor on the porch stood no taller than Callie’s diminutive five-foot two. She appeared to be in her late forties but animated enough to pass for less. She continued to tap with a fingernail in staccato fashion on the glass. “Yoo-hoo!”
    Callie tucked the cleaned .38 in her back jean pocket. “May I help you?”
    “Hey,” the woman said in a mild drawl, pointing next door to the yellow home with sky blue shutters. “I’m Sophie Bianchi, your neighbor.”
    Callie recalled the curious onlooker with the gauzy green top and leotards from yesterday. The basket in her arm contained an assortment of jars and candles. Before Callie could offer a welcome, the visitor tried to push the door open. It stopped at Callie’s well-placed foot.
    Sophie feigned a hurt expression. “You’re not gonna let me in?” She flipped her hand once as if casting a spell. “Look at me. I’m not a rapist. Nor a burglaring murderer.” She flattened her fingertips on her collarbone. “I’m just your neighbor, honey. Probably the best friend you’ll ever make on this island.”
    Callie moved her foot. The welcome gesture seemed nice. “Um, come on—”
    With a dip to one side, wrist bangles jingling, Sophie entered,