Free The Cantaloupe Thief by Deb Richardson-Moore Page B

my Billy. But it warn’t him. He was here with me all day.”
    Branigan made a note to check with the South Carolina Department of Corrections, and asked a few more questions about Billy. Learning nothing that wasn’t already in the police reports, she thanked Billy’s grandmother and told her she’d return shortly with lunch.
    There was a McDonald’s within three miles of the house, so Branigan kept her word. As she tiptoed gingerly across the porch once more, she saw a shadow pass before the window. But when the old woman met her at the door, reaching eagerly for the fragrant sack of cheeseburgers, fries, apple pie and sweet tea, the living room behind her was empty.
    Branigan asked to borrow the most recent picture of Billy. His grandmother shrugged and nodded, her hands occupied with the McDonald’s sack. Branigan walked once more to the table with its montage of a mill village family. She slipped Billy’s photo out of its frame, careful not to bend the picture of the menacing young man.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    JULY 4, TEN YEARS AGO
    Amanda and Bennett entered her mother’s house by the same back door Amanda had exited hours earlier. Bennett Jr and Drew, dressed in khakis and nearly identical blue dress shirts, trailed behind. As they entered, Ben Jr dutifully took off his baseball cap and shoved it in a back pocket. Amanda shot her older son a grateful look. They could hear chatter from the dining room, glasses clinking, laughter.
    Tabitha was in the kitchen, pulling a cookie sheet of hors d’oeuvres from the oven. “Hello, Miz Amanda, Mr Ben,” she said, setting them down and nodding at the boys.
    â€œAnything I can help you with?” asked Amanda, not particularly eager to join the party.
    â€œNo, Miz Amanda. You a guest tonight.”
    Amanda gave the elderly housekeeper a quick hug, squared her shoulders and entered the dining room.
    â€œAh, Bennett. Amanda. Boys.” Ramsey grabbed his sister in a bear hug. “How are you, old man?”
    Bennett smiled, showing no trace of his distaste for his brother-in-law. The nephews shook hands formally with Ramsey. Seeing him only once a year, they had none of the easy familiarity they had with their dad’s family in Atlanta.
    â€œWant to get a plate and go out to the ver-an-dah?” Ramsey whispered.
    Amanda burst into laughter. She picked up a glass of pinot grigio and turned to Bennett and her sons.
    â€œYou guys get something to eat. I’ll mingle out front.”
    She saw Ben Jr edging toward the bar, and started to say something. She stopped herself. He’s twenty-one. Let it go.
    She hooked her arm into Ramsey’s and they strolled toward the front door. “Where are Mother and Heath?” she asked.
    â€œNot sure,” Ramsey said, looking over the crowded room. “I saw them earlier.”
    â€œI need to talk to you about her afternoon craziness,” Amanda whispered.
    â€œAs opposed to her morning or evening craziness?” She snorted. “Right. But sometime tonight, I do need to tell you about it.”
    They reached the sprawling wraparound porch, which had another open bar and buffet set into the curve. Amanda saw the Powers couple from two blocks over. “Bank president, right?” she mouthed to Ramsey.
    He nodded. “And accountant.”
    Amanda glided over to speak to them, her wide-legged black pants swirling like a long skirt.
    â€œPaul, Eileen, hello.”
    â€œAmanda, it’s good to see you,” said Eileen Powers. “Are your boys here? I want to see them.”
    â€œYou can’t miss them,” said Amanda. “They’re dressed like Twiddledee and Twiddledum.”
    Eileen laughed. “I should be able to find them, then.”
    â€œAnd your twins? Are they in town?”
    â€œYes. Branigan works for The Rambler. She’s working tonight, in fact.”
    There was a pause, heavy with the absence of the unremarked-upon