Free Murder Gets a Life by Anne George Page A

appeared from a distance.
    “Hey, honey,” Fred said, and the beautiful Kerrigan, who by this time had her face burrowed against his arm, looked up. Elizabeth Taylor eyes brimmed with tears and were framed with eyelashes like those most women have to buy at cosmetic counters. But not Kerrigan. Her pale skin was slightly flushed, and her shiny brown hair was pulled back in a barrette and cascaded to her waist.
    “This is Kerrigan,” he continued, looking a little sheepish. “Patricia Anne is Ray’s aunt, Kerrigan.”
    I’ve always laughed at novels where one tear slides down the heroine’s face. But damned if that isn’t what happened. One big tear plopped over the bottom of Kerrigan’s left eye and glided down her cheek. I was amazed.
    “Oh, Patricia Anne. What’s happened to my Sunshine?”
    “She’s fine. We’ll find her,” I lied.
    The tear reached a dimple. Kerrigan flicked it out with her thumb. Amazing.
    “It’s all so bizarre, an Indian none of us knew getting killed in Mama’s trailer and Sunshine disappearing. And”—she leaned her head toward Sheriff Reuse—“I don’t think Junior knows what the hell he’s doing.”
    “Of course he does.” Fred lied, too. “We’re going to get organized here in a few minutes.”
    And we did, somehow, in spite of Sheriff Reuse. Small groups formed and were conducted by deputies across the cotton field and to the edge of thewoods. Our group was the last one because I had to stop by the car and swap the rain boots for tennis shoes. Plus, we had to wait for Mary Alice who insisted on giving everyone a bottle of Evian to take with them to ward off dehydration.
    “I had to open up the club before dawn this morning to get that stuff,” Henry said when I mentioned the Evian was a good idea. Like I said, sometimes my sister is a scary person. But all of us stomping through the woods on a manhunt armed with bottles of Evian was just one more surreal facet of the morning.
    “Meemaw said they had a perfectly good well, thank you, ma’am,” Mary Alice said when she caught up with us. “That woman’s got a burr up her butt.” She pulled the blue silk of her jumpsuit away from her legs. “I may have made a mistake wearing this. But I didn’t have anything else decent, did I, Tiffany?”
    “No ma’am.” The girl knew which side her bread was buttered on.
    A young deputy came over to us and pointed to the woods. “Straight through there, arm’s width apart. When you get to the river, turn, move to the right, and come back. Then move to the left and back to the river. Got it?” He handed Fred a whistle. “Y’all take your time; look under bushes and dead trees.”
    “I hope we don’t find anything,” Mary Alice said.
    We all agreed fervently and stepped into the woods.

Seven
    T he woods were lovely, dark, and deep and it was at least ten degrees cooler in the heavy shade for which I was grateful. I rubbed the cold bottle of Evian against my aching head.
    “Y’all go ahead,” Mary Alice said. “I’ll wait right here for you on this stump.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket, spread it on a stump and sat, blue silk jumpsuit packed with Mary Alice butt hanging over the sides. We all looked at her.
    “What do you mean us go ahead?” I asked.
    “Well, you heard the weatherman. It’s really not healthy for people to be out in this heat.”
    I nodded. “You’re right, he particularly said the elderly. So I guess you’d better stay here.”
    “Why don’t we all sit down a minute and drink some of our water,” Henry, the peacemaker, suggested.
    “Good idea,” Fred agreed. “Those sausage biscuits are heating up my belly.”
    I reached into my ultralight fanny pack I’d ordered from L.L. Bean and passed around a package of Tums. Everybody took one.
    “I told Blenda”—Mary Alice chewed on herTum—“I said, Blenda, sausage biscuits are a mite heavy on an August morning with an inversion going on. And she said she thought so, too,