Free A Mother's Day Murder (Mt. Abrams Mysteries Book 1) by Dee Ernst Page B

Viv’s voice made me feel better. I love Maggie to death, but despite her coolness and bravado, most of the time she tended to be useless in a crisis. Thank God for her husband, because every time Serif skinned a knee or bumped her head, Maggie would get hysterical while Derek applied first aid. With Viv in my kitchen, I wouldn’t have cared if Doug came through the door with a machete.
    “I think he was really scared of something,” I said, putting down my mug and running my hand through my damp hair. “And who did he mean by she ? Lacey?”
    “I thought you all thought that he was the one to be afraid of,” Viv said.
    “I know,” I said. “But who else could he have been talking about?”
    We sat in silence. The rain had stopped, and the breeze coming into the house was warm and damp. I was feeling less chilled but needed to get out of my wet clothes.
    “I’m fine now. Honestly. I was just, well, panicked,” I said.
    “I don’t blame you. Doug doesn’t sound very stable,” Maggie said.
    I shook my head. “No he wasn’t.”
    “What are you going to do tomorrow morning at the bus stop when you see him? Pretend this never happened?” Viv asked.
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”
    But I never had to. When Tessa came off the bus, she told me that Jordan was pulled out of class before lunchtime. The jungle drums sounded quickly, and by the time I was getting ready for my date with Sam Kinali, I got a text from Maggie. She had just left the library and had heard from Carol Anderson that Doug withdrew both boys from school. He told Denise Whitmore, school secretary and Carol’s yoga buddy, that he and the boys were going to be staying with Doug’s sister, beginning immediately, and for an indefinite amount of time.

    G etting ready for a date when you haven’t had one since before the existence of the Internet is not nearly as much fun as it sounds, especially when you can’t fit into anything that looks even remotely sexy because all the sexy clothes are size ten, and you’re not quite there yet. Tessa was of no help, because she didn’t think I should be going out at all. Cait viewed the entire operation with ill-concealed amusement.
    “It’s only a drink, Mom. Or are you expecting something more?”
    I tore my eyes from my once-again disappointing image in the mirror and glared at her. “No, I am not expecting anything more. But my generation has a different definition of the word date . We don’t just accidentally bump into each other and decide to hang out or hook-up or whatever else you Millennials do. We plan ahead and try to make a nice impression.”
    I pulled off outfit number six, decided a skirt or dress was too fussy anyway, and started hauling out my dress pants. I knew I had black pants from the Gap that I’d bought last winter, but they were actually too big. I found a dark purple tunic I’d had for a couple of years with black embossing around the shoulders and a V-neck, and long flowing sleeves. A little hippy-dippy, but it fell midthigh and hid the fact that the pants were too big and were being held up by a bright green belt.
    “You could wear leggings with that,” Cait said. She was sprawled on my bed watching. I turned around and looked at myself from the back.
    “Women with hips like mine should not be wearing leggings,” I muttered. The bulk around my waist was noticeable. Just perfect.
    “If you wear them with that shirt, you’ll look fine,” Cait said.
    “I don’t own leggings,” I told her.
    She got off the bed and ran out. I stared at myself unhappily for a few seconds, then undid the pants and let them drop to the floor. I was running out of options as I stepped out of the pants and kicked them to the corner.
    Cait came in holding a jumble of black and her cowboy boots. “Here, put these on.”
    I held up the leggings. “You weigh, like, nothing. These will never fit.”
    “One size fits all,” she insisted.
    I sat down and