Free Death By Drowning by Abigail Keam Page A

him everywhere. I still have operatives trying to track him down.”
    “He may be really dead. We have no real proof he is alive. Don’t spend any more money on me. Come back home.”
    “I . . . I’ll be home soon. I’m almost finished here. Then we can work on a plan to flush out O’nan if he’s around.”
    “We’re going to do no such thing. We are going to get back to normal, as much as we can. He’s dead.”
    “That is not a wise plan of action.”
    “Just come home. We’ll argue about this later. Oh, by the way, did you recover the stolen painting?”
    “Yes, I got it.”
    “Want to tell your old mother which painting it was?”
    “Can’t.”
    “Bad guys in jail?”
    “Some are.”
    “And the rest?”
    Silence hovered, then a click. “Talk to you later.” The call was over.
    I did not feel reassured. Not one little bit.

9
    Dressed, teeth brushed, hair combed, makeup on, I strode – well, limped – with purpose into the great room the next morning. No one was about, but I heard noise from the patio. There I found Matt shoving a cheese Danish in his mouth while trying to read the paper.
    “Morning,” he said apprehensively.
    “Good morning,” I answered with a bright smile. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
    “Well, I am working although it’s Saturday.”
    “Seem to have lost track of the days,” I mused over juice. “Where’s Jake?”
    “Jake has the day off and has gone to Hopkinsville to see the Trail of Tears memorial. Cody is hanging around somewhere. I thought I’d take you around the farm and show you the improvements, talk about your finances, that is, if you are up to it.”
    “I am, but I warn you that I tire easily and might have to take breaks.”
    “No problem. How about some pastries and then we’ll get going?”
    “Sounds good,” I replied before sipping on orange juice. “I’m in your capable hands.”
    Matt nodded, but I am sure he felt the way I did. The old intimacy was gone and though we were polite with one another, our being together felt strained.
    I ate a strawberry pastry very slowly and drank a large glass of milk. Chewing still irritated my tender mouth, but I couldn’t eat baby food forever.
    Once done, Matt and I got in the second-hand electric golf cart my daughter had purchased for me so I could get around the farm. The morning promised a sunny spring day as chattering songbirds were busily gathering materials for their nests. The viburnum bushes were perfuming the air with their white blossoms. It was great to be outside and the cart drove smoothly to the beginning of the property.
    During the drive, Matt wove a story of repairs that included a new gravel road, mowed fields that had been resown with Dutch white clover seed, orchard trees pruned, dead trees removed and new fruit trees planted. Blackberry and raspberry bushes planted on the road side of pasture fences, the house power-washed, refurbished, new toilets, sinks and solar water heaters installed, chipped tile and slate floors repaired, the pool fixed, the old cabana torn down and all the work sheds and outbuildings repaired and painted.
    Matt brought the cart to a halt in the bee field. All the hives had a fresh coat of paint and the honey supers were sitting high on the hive bodies. The field was alive with spring flowers like henbit and snowdrops while the honeysuckle hedges were beginning to open their flower buds. Dozens of bees swirled around the cart, curious. Several hovered around my face and then darted off. It was nice to drink in the scent of bee again.
    “Well, what do you think?”
    “Matt, everything looks fantastic. The woods have been kept intact while the pastures are clean. It looks like a real working farm. You did a great job.” I looked about with pride. “But I’m just worrying – how much did this all cost?”
    “Shaneika paid for the fences and the remodeling of the barn as she promised. The other repairs cost close to $300,000.”
    “Ouch. So that’s