Overdue for Murder (Pecan Bayou) by Teresa Trent Page A

room light softly glowing through the window. "Listen, I'm home. Can I call you tomorrow and tell you all about it? I need to go see about Zach."

    "Sure ... and Betsy ..."

    "Yes?"

    "Be careful, okay?"

    "Okay."

    Pattie was smiling, "Who was that?"

    "That was my friend from Dallas."

    Pattie recalled our earlier conversation about my debate over spending the weekend. "Oh, that friend from Dallas. He sounds like a nice fellow."

    I jumped down from the van, shut the door and turned to the open window. "He's very nice. He was even nice after I told him about finding a body tonight."

    "Why wouldn't he be?" she asked.

    "You're right. It's not like it's my fault or anything."

    "At least that's what you told the police," Pattie giggled.

    "Come on, Pattie, you know I didn't do it."

    She smiled. "You silly, I know – but I don't think Martha Hoffman does."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    "Are those waffles I'm smellin'?" my dad asked as he came through the back door to my kitchen the next morning.

    "Why yes, I think your deductive reasoning is right on target," I answered, pouring batter into my waffle iron. "I wasn't expecting you for breakfast."

    "I know, but I had some things I needed to talk to you about, and I figured it was better to talk to you here than down at the station."

    "Oh." I put the metal lid down to let the waffles begin cooking. Zach came shuffling out in his floppy-eared puppy slippers and bright red pajamas dotted with the escapades of super heroes.

    "Hi Grandpa," he yawned, sitting down at an empty plate. The sun shone through the white kitchen curtains fluttering in the morning breeze. I got the "World's Greatest Grandpa" mug out of the cupboard and poured a cup of coffee. "Black with two sugars."

    "Thank you darlin'," he said as he took a chair next to Zach. We enjoyed a quiet breakfast of waffles, syrup and juice while Zach and my dad talked about their next fishing trip. When Zach left the table to dress for school, I started cleaning up the dishes.

    "I wanted to let you know that because you're my daughter and a suspect in the biggest case to hit Pecan Bayou in awhile, Chief of Police Wilson will be taking the lead. He's worried I may not be totally objective in finding Vanessa Scarlett's murderer."

    "Afraid you won't turn your own daughter in. That's reasonable." I rinsed off a sticky plate and put it in the dishwasher. "When Arvin Wilson starts checking on Vanessa, he's going to find out she had two sides. One was the beautiful and poised side our community saw, and the other was low down, mean and dirty. She was absolutely driven to be the first and best at everything, at any price."

    My dad sipped his coffee. "Come on, Betsy, she didn't look all that mean to me. Crumpled up there on the floor of the library, she looked a little sad."

    I sat down at the table. "I agree, she did. But in the last two weeks I saw her tangle with just about everybody she came in contact with. I know I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, telling her off at the mall, but she destroyed Pattie's entry and then blamed it all on Zach and Danny. You know you can say all kinds of things about me, but you go blaming my kid ..."

    "I know, Mama Bear, I know." My dad chuckled and patted my hand. "I feel the same way about you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be riding shotgun to Chief Wilson."

    "I think the deeper you dig into Vanessa's background, the more people you'll find who aren't all that sad she's gone."

    "Could be, but this morning I'm going to visit with her biggest fan, Martha Hoffman."

    "Good luck with that."

    *****

    There was a memorial service for Vanessa Markham on Thursday. All of the writers from author night were sitting in one pew at the Pecan Bayou Community Church in the same order they had been told to sit in at the library. As I walked toward them, Pattie scooted over and tapped the pew so I could complete the set. Damien Perez leaned over Pattie and said, "Good morning, señorita."

    "Good morning," I