Free Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) by Gina Conroy

DUI. You must have connections with the Big Guy.”
    I glanced at Matt, texting on his iPhone. “I don’t know about connections, but I’d agree we were pretty lucky.”
    Forty-five minutes later, after we filed the police report, the paramedics had checked us, and another policeman had escorted the driver to the police station, Officer Taylor had our car towed.
    “You sure you’re going to be all right? I could give you a lift home.” Officer Taylor’s concern blanketed me with warmth.
    “No, I called someone. He should be here soon.”
    “Promise me you’ll get yourself checked by your doctor. Pain has a sneaky way of creeping up on you after a wreck like this.”
    “I promise.” I waved as Officer Taylor drove off. A splinter of embarrassment pricked my conscience. I had judged him unfairly earlier, and in a few hours he had managed to plant a seed of affection in my hardened heart.
    Standing by the side of the road, I smoothed my wrinkled black skirt and retied my scarlet cardigan. There wasn’t enough time to run home and change before my interview. What would the station think about my casual attire?
    Picking at my pinky nail, I wished I could flick off the returning heaviness. I needed to call Dawn, my nail tech. Maybe there was still time to get my nail fixed and make it to the high school to get Matt’s Jeep.
    Dawn understood my absence, but no amount of sympathy could squeeze more minutes into her full schedule. She regretted she had to charge me half price for our session she wasn’t able to rebook. Maybe I had used all my luck on the accident. I ended the call and searched for Matt.
    Slumped on a bench, he had his phone in his face, fingers moving fast, while my legs ached for a rest. Instead of invading his teenage space, I shuffled to the stone wall near the parking lot strip mall. Leaning against the wall provided some relief to my lower back.
    After calling several other nail salons, I admitted defeat, wishing I had kept my loose pinky nail so I could have at least glued it to my nail bed. Sighing, I found my makeup case from my bag. The stack of letters from Henderson’s desk caught my eye. I removed the first one from its envelope. A sweet, floral scent greeted my nostrils. I sneezed. I really needed to get some allergy medication.
    Unfolding the stationery, I glanced around and chewed my pinky nail thinking about what I had told Matt. Ma’at represents the laws and concept of right and wrong, which are characterized by truth and a respect for creation, life, and relationships.
    It wasn’t like I was snooping for gossip, like Candy. These letters could have important information pertinent to the investigation. I didn’t want to contact Lopez if they turned out to be nothing. I opened the first letter.
    Dearest Theron,
    I can’t begin to express how special the other night was. I hope you feel the same way too. I’m waiting with bated breath until the next time.
    Affectionately,
    C.S.
    The next letter contained the same sweet-smelling perfume and vague relationship babble. I scanned the remaining four, each one more detailed than the last in Henderson’s relationship with C.S., their involvement in the university, and hinting at an unwanted pregnancy. I tried to swallow the last lines of the sixth letter, but they sat in my mouth like week-old Italian bread.
    I’m sorry, Theron, but I’ve refused the money you offered for the abortion. I cannot bring myself to kill what we brought to life. I will always love you, but I cannot be with you any longer. Please understand why I have to do this.
    Regretfully,
    C.S.
    Agita rose, my gut churning like a tropical storm. Detective Lopez would want to see them. But could I trust him to do the right thing? I tucked the letters in my bag. Something pressed me, and it wasn’t my full bladder.
    Had I actually stumbled on the blackmailer—or maybe worse, Henderson’s murderer? As I scanned the approaching cars, my mind raced through the faculty