Free Poisoned Ground by Sandra Parshall Page B

her lap and used the arm of the couch for support to push herself to her feet. She looked as if she’d been crying for hours and had a reservoir of tears yet to shed. Her short hair, dyed black as boot polish, stuck out at angles, as if she’d been tearing at it.
    Holly rushed to throw her arms around her. “Oh, Grandma, I’m so sorry about your friends.”
    After giving Holly a couple of pats on the back, Mrs. Turner pushed her away. “Rachel, you come to see the dogs? Did I forget an appointment?”
    “No, I came to see you.” Rachel placed a hand on Mrs. Turner’s shoulder, intending it as a gesture of consolation, but removed it when she felt the older woman stiffen under her touch. “Holly told me you and Marie Kelly were friends.”
    Instantly Mrs. Turner’s expression hardened, and she shot a peeved glance at Holly. “There’s not any need for you to be tellin’ people about my personal business.”
    “Now don’t be that way, Grandma. I know you’re hurtin’ because of what happened to your friends. You don’t have to act mean when somebody shows they care about how you feel.”
    Mrs. Turner pressed her lips into a hard line that wouldn’t hold. One corner twitched upward in a rueful smile as she told Rachel, “This girl’s done nothin’ but talk back to me since the day she took up with you.”
    Rachel laughed. “Sorry about that.”
    The tension broken, Mrs. Turner sank onto the couch again. The tabby cat reclaimed its place on her lap and the smallest dog, a terrier mix, jumped up beside her. The other two settled at her feet. “Lord, that was awful news about Marie and her husband. It’s just been eatin’ away at my heart since I heard. Look at the time, and I’ve not even started dinner yet.”
    She began to rise, giving the cat a gentle push that prompted a yowlof protest.
    “No, Grandma,” Holly said. “You stay right where you are and talk to Rachel. I’ll take care of dinner.” She threw Rachel a look that mixed apprehension, hope, and a plea for tact, and headed off to the kitchen.
    Rachel hoped she would be in her own kitchen preparing dinner sometime soon, although she doubted Tom would be able to join her. If this day seemed endless to her, she could imagine what a grind it had been for him. And his workday was probably nowhere close to being over.
    Two more cats occupied the room’s armchairs, so Rachel sat on an upholstered hassock. Although they lived in a house that many called a mansion, Holly and her grandmother were using the furniture from their old house and leaving many rooms empty or filled with supplies for their charges. New furnishings cost too much, they said, and the money was better spent on caring for the animals they took in and expanding the space to house them. Upstairs in the master suite, though, Holly was creating a freshly decorated apartment for herself and Brandon in preparation for their upcoming marriage.
    “I didn’t know the Kellys well,” Rachel said, taking a cautious first step toward her goal, “but I thought they were good people. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing to them.”
    She watched with dismay as Mrs. Turner’s face crumpled and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I hope they burn in hell, the ones that did it,” she choked out.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Rachel cut off her apology. She had come here to get information, after all. She refocused. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”
    Mrs. Turner extracted a fresh tissue from the pocket of her dress, mopped her eyes and blew her nose. “I’d like to load up my shotgun and go after them. Cut them down in cold blood, like they did poor Marie and Lincoln.”
    Rachel believed she was capable of doing exactly what she said. “The person who did it won’t get away with it. Tom will make sure of that.”
    “He’d better, or I’ll do it myself. You tell him I said so.”
    Oh, he’d love hearing that,Rachel thought. But she nodded to placate Mrs.