Free Pearls and Poison (A Consignment Shop Mystery) by Duffy Brown Page A

you? You’re all dirty. What have you been up to? More alleys?”
    “It’s all Chantilly’s fault. Do you know this detective from Atlanta?”
    “Bet you didn’t have dinner.” Mamma led the way to the kitchen, updated last year with marble counters and white cabinets. “I haven’t met the detective, but I’m sure he’ll be fair.”
    “That’s what Boone said.” I sat at the old yellow pine table where Mamma and I had shared meals since I was two and that had thankfully escaped the upgrade.
    Mamma smiled. “You got to trust the system, honey.”
    Mamma was all serene and peaceful as she took ham and roast beef from the fridge like when I was in grade school bellyaching about math class. She pulled out a loaf of sourdough bread and the mayo. “You really do mean it, don’t you? About trusting the system.”
    “What kind of judge would I be if I didn’t?” She added lettuce and cheese, and sat the sandwich in front of me, a blue linen napkin beside it. Sometimes you can go home again . . . at least for a little bit.
    “How did you know I was hungry?” I got up and washed my hands at the sink, and Mamma nodded at the pile of campaign posters.
    “I have spies. Your refrigerator’s empty, and your dog eats better than you do.”
    “Who do you think killed Seymour?” I asked, and reclaimed my seat. I snatched the sandwich and chowed down.
    “Hard to say.”
    “Who’s your attorney?” I mumbled around a mouthful of sublime comfort food, thankful for a break in the action. I plucked up a slice of Swiss that had escaped and plopped it into my mouth. How could something with holes taste so good?
    Mamma rewrapped the cold cuts and cheese, and cleaned up crumbs that weren’t there. “I’m working on that one.”
    “Any front runners?”
    “I’ll get somebody good. This could be dangerous. Seymour was a dangerous guy. I don’t want to involve just anyone in my problems.” Mamma folded then refolded the kitchen towel twice, and I put down my sandwich—so much for peace and calm. I wasn’t the only one with idiosyncrasies that gave me away. With Mamma it was making busy work when she didn’t want to give straight answers. The time she donated my favorite jeans to the Goodwill by mistake she arranged all the pens in the house by size and color.
    “Sweet Jesus in heaven.” A sickening feeling settled in my gut. “Boone’s your attorney.”
    “I don’t want you to be part of this, Reagan.” Mamma opened the cabinet door and turned all the cup handles to the right.
    “What happened to trusting the system? Boone sidesteps, ducks, twists, and dodges the system every chance he gets.”
    Mamma took the chair across from me. “Honey, sometimes the system needs a stick of dynamite up it’s behind to get it going in the right direction. Walker knows how to do that. I see what happens in a courtroom every day. It’s the best system out there to be sure, but it isn’t always pretty.”
    “My divorce wasn’t pretty, and Boone was the culprit.”
    Mamma gave me a sideways glance that suggested otherwise, like me signing that prenup was the otherwise. Okay, she won that point, but there were others. I poked myself in the chest. “Boone can help you and I can’t? What’s with that?”
    “If things fall apart, I don’t want to take you down with me. For better or worse Walker’s used to the rougher side of life. You’re a—”
    “Wuss?”
    “You’re my baby.” Mamma added a little sniff for good measure. “What would I do if anything happened to you? Promise me you’ll let Walker handle this.”
    Lord have mercy and sweet Jesus above, here we go again.
My baby
was right behind
mighty proud
. And there was even a sniff involved. When giving birth, at the hospitals there must be a list of guilt phrases given to new parents to bring their offspring in line.
My baby
was one of the top five on that list to be sure.
    Well, that was just fine and dandy, but kids had their list, too, and it was