Free Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8) by Vanessa Gray Bartal

switched legs and shook that one vigorously, the fence rattling noisily in the process.
    The pain eased and she went still as she made her inspection of the area. Had anyone watched her shake like a wet dog? No, all was clear and she resumed climbing.
    She reached the top and faced a new problem. How did one get over? In theory, it had seemed like an easy thing to reach the apex and swing over, but the gate wasn’t sturdy enough to support her weight while she stood upright and moved her legs over. She would have to slide, shimmy, and hope she didn’t plop onto the cement below. This was where physical conditioning and good hand-eye coordination would have come in handy. Unfortunately for Lacy, she had neither of those things. All she had was a strong desire not to die. She clutched and rolled, awkwardly passing from one side to the other. Who needed razor wire when the top of the fence poked relentlessly into her tender flesh?
    When all of her finally reached the other side, she encountered a new problem: she was facing the wrong way. Somehow during the transition she had turned herself around so she was no longer hugging the fence. She had a clear view of the lot, but the metal mesh dug into her back and she couldn’t move. For a moment, she panicked. But then she quickly talked herself back to calm.
    “This isn’t a problem. All I have to do is let go with one hand, swing around, and catch the fence. Easy-peasy.” Still, it took another minute to convince herself to let go of the security of the fence. At last she unclenched her right hand and used her foot to push off, giving herself the momentum to swing forward.
    But instead of swinging hard to the left, she jerked to a sudden stop, and then everything happened at once. She immediately comprehended that her pants were caught on the fence. Instinct took over and she gave a rough jerk to tear them free. The quick motion worked to dislodge her from her entanglement, but it also released her from the safety of the fence. Her arms windmilled, trying to catch anything to break her fall, but she was facing the wrong way. With nothing to grab onto, she plummeted through the air, arms swinging in aimless circles.
    The ground rushed up to meet her, and she hit it hard. Many years of falling had taught her a few things, so her head was protected. Her arms and legs took the brunt of the impact, and she rolled slightly to absorb the shock.
    After a few seconds of stunned disbelief, she took stock of her condition. Everything hurt, but not badly. Nothing was broken. She opened her eyes and inspected her arms. They were covered in road rash from landing on soft gravel and hard cement, but they weren’t as shredded as they could have been.
    Gingerly, she sat up and inspected her legs. Her knees were a little bloody, but nothing she couldn’t manage.
    She leaned in for a closer inspection and froze. Why were her knees bloody? Because they were exposed. But why were they exposed?
    Her baleful gaze swung to the fence. The tattered remains of her pants hung there like a cicada’s discarded shell. They were beyond repair, but she didn’t need pants to drive a car. All she had to do was tear them down, get her mother’s car, and go home. No one would ever know about this.
    Tremulously, she tottered to her feet and reached for the pants. Just as her fingers brushed the hem, a spotlight illuminated her in its beam. A warning siren gave a brief WHOOP and a man spoke.
    “Ma’am, step away from the fence.” He stepped out of his car, and even with the glaring spotlight blinding her, Lacy knew he was a cop.
    This is not going to end well for me, Lacy thought as she took a step away from her pants and put up her hands.
    He moved forward and pushed open the gate, which Lacy now realized wasn’t locked. “Ma’am, what are you doing?” he asked. In the darkness, Lacy couldn’t tell who it was. She knew some of the deputies, but not all. This one was older. The face was familiar, but