Free Murder in Marietta (A Trixie Montgomery Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Deborah Malone Page A

interrupted with a bigger problem. “Okay, Kiddo. Check in with me tomorrow and be careful.”
    “What do you think we should do next, Dee Dee?”
    “If you want the truth, I suggest go home to Vans Valley.” I didn’t blame her for wanting to tuck tail and run – I did, too, but the stack of unpaid bills kept me going.
    Instead, we decided to pick up Nana at the hospital and head for our temporary abode Dora had so graciously offered. We ordered a take out plate for Nana before we left the Big Chicken.
    When we returned to Dora’s room, we found her asleep and Nana dozing in the chair. I hated to wake her up, but she needed to go home and get a good night’s rest in a real bed. I was confident she’d want to come back tomorrow. We left Dora a note and tiptoed out. Nana stopped at the nurse’s station to tell them she was leaving.
    “What’s that wonderful smell?” Nana asked after we settled in the car. “I swanny, I believe it’s fried chicken.” She looked around the car.
    “You’re right, Nana. You have the nose of a bloodhound,” Dee Dee said. “We ate at the Big Chicken for supper and figured you’d enjoy a little night time snack.” Dee Dee held up the take out box. Nana grabbed it.
    Dusk settled in by the time we left the hospital parking lot. With the windows rolled down, the heat proved bearable. On our drive back to Dora’s, the night insects sang their songs. Fragrant air blew in, laden with the sweet smell of honeysuckle and privet hedge. The car filled with talk and laughter. The chaos over the last couple of days had put a damper on our spirits, and the levity was a welcome relief. It was short lived.
    We opened Dora’s front door to a scene of destruction. Couch cushions littered the floor, and overturned potted plants spilled their soil across the room. Desk drawers lay open, their contents carelessly scattered about.
    “Oh, no,” Nana exclaimed. “What in the world happened?”
    “I don’t know Nana, but we don’t need to be in here.” I grabbed Nana by the arm and backed her out of the house. Dee Dee dialed 911. In less than ten minutes a squad car pulled up. Out jumped Officers Roach and Trapp, the duo in blue.
    After the officers made a thorough sweep of the disheveled house, they allowed us to go back in. Nana walked a little weak kneed. I supported her with my arm. Dee Dee’s face had lost a good portion of its color. The pit of my stomach agitated like an old butter churn. Why had someone decimated poor Dora’s house?
    “Ms. Montgomery, could you please tell us what happened?” Officer Roach opened her tablet and grabbed a pen from her pocket. Officer Trapp continued to go through the house. I told her what little I knew. My head shot up when the front door flew open.
    “Well, Ms. Montgomery. What have you gotten yourself into now?” Detective Bowerman stood in the doorway. His hair stuck out in all directions. As usual, his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them. He twirled his ever-present unlit cigar between his fingers. What was he doing here?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

    U h, what are you doing here, Detective?”
    “I’ll ask the questions Ms. Montgomery.” He worried his hair with his fingers. No wonder it stuck straight up.
    Nana, Dee Dee and I sat side-by-side on the couch. “Can you ladies tell me what happened tonight?” We answered in unison, and he shot out a stogied hand. “One at a time, please.”
    We didn’t have much to tell him, except that we’d come home to the obvious mess, so Detective Bowerman walked through the house while the techs lifted fingerprints from various objects in the room. Time passed as slow as molasses on a cold winter’s night as we waited on the detective.
    “I think we have what we need. You can access the other rooms now.” Bowerman told us, and then one of the officers came over and whispered something in his ear. He continued, “We’ve performed a detailed search and found no sign of anyone. I still have some