Coastal Cottage Calamity (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Abby L. Vandiver Page A

saying.”
    Mac leaned over
and said in a low voice, “I’d be willing to risk life and limb to help you,
Vivee.” He nodded. “Even go to jail.”
    He’s already
practically given up a limb for her. Had he forgotten she’s the reason he has a
limp . . .
    “So. What you got,
Vivee?” Mac asked.
    She pulled her
notebook and three No. 2 pencils out of her purse. She laid two of the pencils on
the table, and licked the granite tip of the third. “Well, let me see,” she
said. “Suspects.” She glanced over at Mac while flipping through her new memo
pad from Hadley’s. “I have quite a few of them this time.”
    “Let’s hear ‘em.
Who you got?”
    “Well. The first
people on my list are those fake cousins. Ron and Charlotte Anderson. Heard
they were here at the diner this morning carrying on like fools.”
    “Miss Vivee,” I
said. “You don’t know that they’re not his real cousins.” I took a sip of my
pop. “Viola Rose didn’t say anything about his wife causing problems. And she prefers
to be called Charlie.”
    “I don’t care if
she prefers to be called Queen of the Abused Wives,” Miss Vivee said with a
huff. “All they’re after is his money. You heard what Viola Rose said. Heck, I didn’t even think about a will. Who would at a time like this?” She took a sip
of her iced tea. “I can answer that. Killers, that’s who.” Miss Vivee pressed
her napkin down over her lap. “But if they are the killers, they won’t get a
dime. They don’t award murderers an inheritance.”
    Miss Vivee seemed
to get upset every time she talked about the cousins. She was just going to
make them into the murderers even if they hadn’t even been in town at the time
and even if it turned out that Oliver hadn’t been murdered.
    Although, I did
take issue with that big dummy Ron Anderson talking about Bay.
    “Tell him who
else, Miss Vivee,” I said pointing to her notebook, trying to move the
conversation along.
    She glanced down
at her notebook. “Of course I had to put down Renmar’s name,” she said. She
coughed into her hand and then looked back down at her list. “And I’ve got the
women that were arguing about who Oliver belonged to the day before he was
murdered.”
    “Died,” I
corrected. I knew my little innuendos wouldn’t deter her from investigating,
but I had to try, no matter how much weight they carried with her. “Cause of
death is still undetermined.”
    “Murdered,” she
said defiantly.
    I let my eyes
drift toward the ceiling.
    “Now let me see,”
she said again. “First there’s Lindsey Grace. She’s got that white-platinum
blonde dye job and the false eyelashes. Speaking like she’s out of breath.”
    I laughed. “Like Marilyn
Monroe, don’t you think?”
    “Have you ever
seen Marilyn Monroe?” Miss Vivee scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “She
doesn’t look a thing like her.” She dismissed me and my comment with a wave of
her hand.
    “Then there’s that
strawberry blonde girl, Mary Beth Perkins,” Miss Vivee said. “She turned into a
wild woman that day in the dining room. I thought I’d have to fix a gallon of
tea just to calm her down.” She looked down at her notebook again. “And the one
with the highlights in her hair. She’s the third one. I don’t know her name.
Yet,” Miss Vivee said with determination. “She doesn’t live in Yasamee. Maybe
the next town over, I’m thinking. But I’m not sure.”
    “No road trips,
Miss Vivee,” I warned.
    “We’ve got to
interview them. All of them,” Miss Vivee said not caring what I said.
    “No road trips,
Miss Vivee,” I said it again.
    “Stop saying
that.” She shot a look at me. “You’re awfully cranky today. And disagreeable,”
she said frowning up her face.
    Thank goodness Viola
Rose came over with the food and drew Miss Vivee’s attention from fussing at
me. And it gave her the opportunity to utilize Yasamee’s indubitable gossip
grapevine to find out more about Oliver’s