him. I bet he just needs someone to talk to.”
“I’ll bet that’s it,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “He’ll be fine. I’ll watch out for him.”
“No new murders, right?” my father asked nervously.
Not since this morning.
“No, Dad,” I said, as if that was silliest idea I’d ever heard. “Ha ha ha.”
“Say hello to your mother for us,” Betty Jo said, a sop toward courtesy. “And have Phillip call us himself the minute he gets up.”
“He has a lot to answer for,” my father said grimly.
“So do you!” Betty Jo told him. “Good-bye, Roe.”
I was so glad to end the conversation, I almost danced.
Chapter Three
The rest of my family was probably wondering where I was. I made a face in my bedroom mirror. When I’d gotten up that morning, my most pressing problem had been whether or not my only pair of intact panty hose was clean.
While Phillip slept, I’d checked Robin’s itinerary and then called him at a store called Murder by the Book, in Houston. The young man who’d answered the phone had been very civil about getting Robin to the phone as soon as he’d been convinced I actually knew Robin and was not a crazed fan who’d dreamed up a clever way to talk to him.
“Did you win?” I asked him.
“No,” Robin said, though he sounded cheerful. “But the panel was standing room only, and my signing line went out of the room. Awards are nice, but sales are better.”
“How’s your signing at the bookstore going?”
“Just about to get under way. I’m signing with Margaret Maron, and the store is jam-packed.”
So he had a group of people waiting for him.
“I just have some things I had to tell you,” I said anxiously.
“You’re all right?” His voice was suddenly sharp. “Your stepfather okay?”
“I’m fine, Robin,” I said, my voice soft. “And John is healthy. But John David’s wife, Poppy? She got killed this morning.”
“In a car?” he said cautiously.
“No, she was murdered.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. From your voice, I’m betting you found her.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Shall I come home right now?”
“Bless you for offering. But there’s more.”
A long pause. “I’m listening,” he said, just when I was about to ask if he’d hung up. “Did you get arrested?” He wasn’t entirely joking.
“My brother Phillip is here.”
“Your brother? Oh, sure! The little guy who was staying with you all those years ago! Hasn’t he been living in Pomona? What’s he doing in Lawrenceton?”
“He’s at least five eight or nine now,” I said. “And he got here by running away from home.”
“Uh-oh. You talked to your dad and the new wife?”
“She’s not so new now, and my dad cheated on her. Phillip walked in on this little episode,” I said. “That’s supposed to be the reason he ran away, but I’m finding that a little, I don’t know, extreme.”
“So, what do you think the real reason is?”
“Maybe time will tell. He’s going to stay here for at least a week.”
“Hmm. Okay.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “He needs this right now.”
“No problem. If you don’t need me instantly, I’ll just do two more signings tomorrow, one in Austin and one in Dallas, and then I’ll fly home from there.”
“I sure will be glad to see you,” I said. “But you keep up with your signing schedule.” I was flattered and delighted that Robin would offer to do that, but at the same time, it scared me. Had we rushed into this comfortable intimacy? I had just adjusted to being alone in my widowhood when Robin had unexpectedly returned to Lawrenceton. It hadn’t taken long to resume our relationship of a few years ago. Though I hadn’t yet brought myself to discuss my doubts with Robin, I had been thinking the past couple of weeks that we might have hurried things too much. But the minute Robin had left for his convention, I’d missed him. Now I found myself looking forward to his return, not only for the pleasure of his physical presence but because I’d be glad to have his support and his insight- especially in matters regarding Phillip. After all, Robin had been a teenage boy once upon a time.
“I have to go sign some books,” Robin said gently.
The doorbell chimed. “And I have to go answer the door,” I told him. “Just let me know when you’re coming in, and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“I left my car there so I could bring my mother back with me,” he reminded me. “Her plane gets in right after mine. I’ll call you when I’m back.”
When I remembered that Robin would not exactly be at my disposal when he returned, I was so distracted by my disappointment that I answered the door without looking through the peephole. That was a bad habit, and one I’d have to break. When I’d lived out in the country, I’d heard every visitor before they’d gotten to the door, and I’d had time to look out the window to find out who it was. Town living was different.
Bubba Sewell, my lawyer (and possibly my next state representative), was looming in my doorway. Cartland Sewell was a big man anyway, and he’d put on the pounds since he’d married my beautiful friend Lizanne.
“Is it true?” he asked.
“Hello. Glad to see you. Why don’t you come in,” I said, waving my hand down the hall. I knew I sounded pissed off, and I was.
“I’m a little too upset for the amenities, Aurora,” he said. When he was in the house, I got a better look at him. Bubba had been crying. I reminded myself to call him Cartland; since he’d gotten into politics, Cartland had been the name of choice.
“What’s put a bee in your bonnet?”
“Poppy,” he said. He seemed to have trouble getting the name out.
I looked at him for a long moment. “So the rumor is true.”
“Yeah, it’s true. I was actually thinking of…”
“You weren’t going to leave Lizanne?” I sounded every bit as horrified as I felt. “You idiot!”
Cartland looked as though he was thinking of slapping me. And I would almost have deserved it if he had; not that I think hitting is ever excusable, but I’d been unbearably tactless.
“Poppy was so wonderful,” he said. “She was so beautiful, and she was… in intimate moments… she, ah…”
“Don’t want to know,” I said. “Too much information!”
He looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry. But you just don’t know,” he said. “She was everything to me. I wanted her to run off with me.”
“Meaning an end to your political ambitions, your marriage, and your relationship with your children?”
“I could have patched things up politically, eventually,” he said, sounding as if he really believed it. “Lizanne and I don’t get along anyway. And how could she stop me from having a relationship with my own sons?”
“There’s still a lot you don’t know about Lizanne, if you believe that.”
“Roe, Lizanne is a great woman, and she’s beautiful and peaceful and she’s a good mother to the boys, but…” He waved his hands in frustration.
“But what?” I snapped.
“But Lizanne’s so
