Free Cheri on Top by Susan Donovan

supposed to be a finance whiz with a multimillion-dollar business back in Tampa. A person like that wouldn’t become excited about getting a smartphone—she’d already have one, one with all the bells and whistles, too.
    “Hey, don’t take it out on me,” J.J. said, misinterpreting her remark. “I know it’s a pain to carry around multiple devices, but the publisher needs to be reachable at all times. Part of the job.”
    Cherise nodded, damn happy to have been misunderstood and thrilled with the idea of having a phone again. Then it occurred to her that J.J. was being kind. He was providing helpful information. He was smiling at her now, too, his face relaxed and friendly. She didn’t understand it. She licked her lips in nervousness. His eyes darted to where her tongue had just been. Then he scowled at her.
    Oh, this was just plain nuts! If Cherise and J.J. were going to work together, they needed to clear the air. She had to know how he could have been so awful to Tanyalee, and why he seemed to vacillate between sweet and satanic in every encounter she had with him.
    And that moment at Paw Paw Lake, when they almost kissed? Somebody needed to say something about that completely bizarre incident. She took a breath. “Listen, J.J.—”
    “Yeah. We almost kissed. I know—bizarre. Forget it. I already have. I was hepped up on the adrenaline of a great news story. It’s not the first time that’s happened. In fact, I think I kissed Gladys when we had the giant mudslide across I-40 last year. See you at the meeting.”
    He was gone.
    After remaining frozen in bewilderment for a long moment, Cherise opened the newspaper she’d been holding. Body Found at Construction Site, the bold black headline said. Below was a color photograph of the mud-covered car swinging from a chain, a grieving old woman restrained by sheriff’s deputies in the background.
    Imbedded in the story was that iconic black-and-white school picture of Barbara Jean Smoot, the one Cherise remembered seeing as a kid, the girl’s blond bangs cut straight and her ponytail visible as it cascaded from high on the back of her head. Barbara Jean had a smile more suited to Hollywood than hill country. She had an elegant neck. Delicate features. Bright, shining eyes. Under the photo was this question: “Have we finally found the ‘Lady of the Lake’?”
    Cherise looked up in time to see J.J. round the corner out of sight.

Chapter 8

    “Oh, hell no.”
    Cherise stumbled out of the car and stood in the gravel lane, her whisper escaping just before her mouth unhinged in shock. She was supposed to live here? The place was a complete catastrophe ! Thistles up to her ass. A thick carpet of decayed leaves squishing under her feet. Hanging gutters. Missing shingles. Cracked windows. Thick kudzu growing unchecked up the bungalow’s stone walls. A crumbling porch. A dilapidated dock.
    A squirrel on her foot.
    Her shriek sent the birds scattering. The scream echoed across the lake, cut through the woods, and easily carried all the way over the Tennessee border.
    She snatched her boot away from the filthy, destructive creature and jumped back, smacking up against the side of the DeVille. The nasty thing just sat there on its hind legs like a rat-sized circus poodle, its little jaw going a mile a minute.
    Cherise stomped her boots in the gravel. The creature still didn’t move. “No! Git! Go away!”
    The rodent cocked its head and stared at her with curious little brown marble eyes before it finally swished its tail and scurried off.
    “Ain’t that bad.” Tater Wayne stood in the front door of the lake house, yet another bouquet of flowers dangling from his grip, his limp blond hair falling into his eyes. “Looks worse than it is, Cheri. Ain’t gonna fall on ya er nothin’.”
    She willed her pulse to return to normal.
    “Now, the outside is the main problem, but I’d hire a cleaning crew for the inside if I were you. It’s plenty bad,