Free The Turtle Mound Murder by Mary Clay Page A

Mom had me when she was twenty.
In their sixties, Warren and Barbara Martin weren’t old by anyone’s
standards. In fact, a scientist on Good Morning, America said that one hundred forty would be the life span for our
children. By that gauge, Mom and Dad weren’t even middle-aged, and
I was still a youngster. Zack, Jr. and Ann were mere infants. I
liked that idea a lot.
    Which reminded me that I needed to give the
kids a call. I doubted they’d talked to their father, and I
supposed they deserved to know the divorce was final. I had to tell
them I was selling the house, too. I’d be happy to leave it, I had
nothing but terrible memories from the last year—yet it was the
only home they’d ever known.
    Damn Zack. He cheated me out of my marriage,
assets, and memories. The kids grew up in that house, yet I could
hardly stand the sight of it. Ann took her first step there. Little
Zack had his Cub Scout meetings. The kitchen had always been full
of the kids and their friends eating cookies and discussing their
troubles with school or sports or the bully down the street. Zack
had robbed me of all that, for what? Money. Some legal-smegal
nonsense about abandoning the home. Translation: Zack was terrified
I’d end up with the house if he left. He didn’t give a damn that it
put me through hell, or ruined the kids’ holidays, or anything
else. Himself, that’s all he thought about. How had I married such
a selfish shit? Why hadn’t I seen his true colors sooner? All the
small—and not-so-small—indignities from our marriage flooded my
mind. I gripped the stem of my wine glass tightly. If Zack had been
there, at that moment, he’d probably have gotten the contents in
his face.
    A good looking guy motioned at Penny Sue’s
chair. “Is this seat taken?”
    My first inclination was to take his head
off. I was still wrapped up in my not-so-fond memories of Zack and
the look I gave the newcomer must have been ferocious, because he
backed away before I said a word. I caught myself and forced a
smile. He was not Zack. He was harmless, and in fact, he looked
kinda familiar. A quick glance at Penny Sue told me she was not
returning in the near future. In any event, our table should be
ready soon, the bus people were finally preparing to leave. “Help
yourself,” I said, picking up the car keys from the counter.
    He sat down, and ordered a beer. “Nice
night, isn’t it?”
    I cut my eyes at him. Was this guy trying to
pick me up? I took a sip of wine to buy time and gather my
thoughts. Damn, what was keeping Ruthie? The ink on my divorce
decree was barely dry, so a relationship was the last thing I
wanted. Yet, that was making quite a leap. Nice night was hardly a
blatant pass. It’s not like he’d whispered: ‘Hey, sugar, I want to
jump your bones.’
    “It’s been beautiful all day,” I finally
replied.
    “I hope it stays that way. I’m down from New
Jersey. It was snowing when I left.”
    I remembered seeing something about a freak
winter storm on the Weather Channel. “It’s supposed to be sunny
here for the next few days.”
    “How about you? From the north?” he
asked.
    My antenna went up. Where are you from?
What’s your name? Want to come back to my hotel for a drink? Maybe
this was a come-on, the guy was following the typical script.
Though, I could be wrong. “Yeah, if you call Georgia north,” I
replied.
    He laughed. A nice, full chuckle—something I
never heard from Zack.
    “Not unless it’s snowing there. Al,” he
said, extending his hand.
    “Leigh,” I replied, accepting it. A crisp
handshake—no fingering my palm or rubbing my wrist or other sleazy
maneuver to indicate bad intentions.
    “Do you live here permanently?”
    I took a nervous sip of my wine. Where was
Ruthie? I’d sure feel better if she were with me; it’d been a long
time since I’d done the dating scene. “No, just visiting with some
old friends. You?”
    His beer arrived, and he took a drink. “Got
a few days off and