Free Death of a Wolfman (A Lily Gayle Lambert Mystery Book 1) by Susan Boles Page B

listened to like they were the latest soap opera. Of course it was a good way to keep up with happenings in the county because they’d be able to figure out a lot of things just from the addresses called in on the scanner to the police department. All it took was a knowledge of who lived where and the reputation of various family members.
    A call out to Old Cemetery Road meant the Weavers, and everyone knew Josh Weaver was a terrible drinker and took it out on his wife when he came home drunker than Cooter Brown and decided she’d done something wrong. Folks would head on over to the hospital to visit with his wife Sophie, acting like they had no idea how she’d ended up there.
    Pushing aside all this conjecture, I paused to take a deep breath. Even with all my bike riding, I felt a little out of breath from the trip. Surely I’d come to the meeting place in a minute or two.
    The hands of my watch showed ten minutes after nine o’clock as I rounded a bend in the path. I just hated being late for anything. It drove me nuts for some reason, but everyone had their little idiosyncrasies. Feeling more than a little put out —LizBeth could have mentioned it would be quite a trek from the driveway to this gazebo—I saw a flash of white in front of me with water beyond. At last. The gazebo and the pond.
    LizBeth sat with her back to the path; her long hair blew in a slight breeze coming off the pond. I felt even more put out. Here the woman sat, cool and collected, watching the pond while I’d worked up a sweat on the trek into these godforsaken woods. Whatever this information was, it had better be good.
    Wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, I called out, “LizBeth, I wish you’d told me it was so far in. I wouldn’t have left my bike back at the edge of the woods.”
    Stepping up into the gazebo, indignation uppermost, I prepared to castigate the other woman just a little more to get rid of the put-out feeling. Holding in emotions could be bad for your health; at least that was what I’d always heard. Anyone could tell you Lily Gayle Lambert had never been one to leave you in the dark when it came to her feelings on just about anything.
    Turning to face LizBeth, my words died in my throat. The woman sat propped against one of the gazebo support posts, blood pouring from her mouth and running along her chin to drip in a slow stream onto the front of a white blouse rapidly turning scarlet.
    LizBeth was very, very dead. I was very, very horrified. Finding my voice, I let out a scream that rent the quiet woods, bouncing from the still water of the pond and echoing across the forest. Heart pounding, I unglued my feet from the board floor, fleeing down the building’s steps. Racing along the path, fatigue forgotten, I screamed again. But who would hear me out in the woods like this? What if the killer was lurking nearby? Maybe it would be best not to scream any more just now and save my breath for running. Feet, don’t fail me now.
    Forgetting all about my bike hidden among the trees, I reached the turn from the path onto the driveway, digging deep for a second breath. I caught a glimpse of the manor roof over the top of the trees. Slowing for just a moment, I considered. Go to the manor house or out to the road to flag down the first car that happened to pass? The house was closer and would no doubt be the most logical choice, but my feet urged me toward the road instead. My feet pounding the dirt path, I plunged down the curved driveway at my previous breakneck pace.
    Just as I came even with the main road, a flopping shoelace tripped me. Landing hard on all fours, I ignored the searing pain in my hands and knees, my attention caught by the unmistakable squeal of tires on pavement as someone struggled to stop before running me over. Scrambling crabwise, I scooted to the side of the road as fast as my hands and knees would allow.
    “For the love of God, girl. Are you out to get me or what? That’s