And then I’d fallen into bed exhausted, yet couldn’t sleep. Kenny’s words kept swirling in my mind. And I’d eaten my fair share of cookie dough, which sat like a brick in my stomach. “Anyway, I plan to be lazy today.”
“No can do, we need to go talk to Walter. He called shortly before you got up to say that Earl was sued by a client a few years ago.”
That woke me up. “How are we just hearing about this now?”
“I vaguely remember hearing something about it, but I think nothing ever came of it. So, I’m not sure.”
Shoveling another bite of whipped cream into my mouth, I slid off the stool. “I’ll go get dressed and then we can go to Walter’s.”
Fern eyed my outfit. “What’s wrong with what you’ve got on?”
I shook my head and went back upstairs. Owl print pajama pants were not meant to be worn out of the house. I cringed, remembering that Cole had seen me in them.
In my room, I scoured the floor in search of something semi-clean to wear. My freshly washed jeans from yesterday’s baking marathon had bits of cake batter and frosting on them. And other than one pair of old sweats and the skirt I’d worn to my dad’s election party, I had nothing.
Desperate, I yanked on the bottom dresser drawer, hoping there was something from my past life in here that still fit. On top was a sweatshirt with my college’s logo that Kenny had bought me the summer I graduated from high school. It was actually in decent shape since it had hardly been worn. But why had I kept it?
Sifting through some socks and a few old tee-shirts, I found a pair of jeans that I’d worn in college. I muttered a quick prayer for them to fit.
After jumping, squatting, shaking my legs, and variety of other crazy movements, I’d miraculously managed to pull my jeans up over my butt. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get them buttoned, or zipped for that matter.
That’s what fifteen pounds will do. Depressing. I needed to quit eating my product.
Then again, maybe this would help me eat less today. Doubtful. A better question was whether I’d be able to sit in these things. Pulling on a grubby tee-shirt and the sweatshirt from Kenny, I stiffly stepped to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then headed back downstairs.
“Fern,” I hollered, carefully maneuvering down the steps in my skin-tight pants. “Do you have a rubber band or a safety pin? I can’t get my jeans buttoned, but I don’t have anything else clean to wear. And frankly, part of me is determined that they will fit,” I emphasized. “These were my favorite pants when I was in college and it’s maddening enough that I’ve gained—”
I turned the corner to enter the kitchen and froze.
Cole was here. With Fern, and they were both staring at me. My aunt stood slightly behind the sheriff and gave me a sheepish grin, as Cole smiled slyly.
Heat coursed through my body and I had a feeling my face was redder than my specialty marinara sauce. I then realized that I had been holding my sweatshirt up, thinking Fern would have something for me to fix my pants. My hands frantically tugged the sweatshirt down over my butt. Thank goodness it was long and baggy.
“Charlee,” Fern said, awfully chipper. “You look great! And there’s no shame in wearing stretchy pants.” She tugged at the waistband of her colorful knit pants.
I dropped my gaze to the floor, praying for Fern to shut up. If only there was a rotten floorboard I could fall through and disappear. I would welcome that. Heck, I would have preferred a root canal over this.
“Cole dropped by to give us an update,” my aunt finally said, changing the subject.
“Oh,” I muttered. “How nice. Maybe he should try calling first.” I glared at him, which earned me another roguish grin. I tread cautiously past him to the breakfast bar where I’d left my coffee. Eyeing the stool, I decided to remain standing. If I sat and my pants ripped, I think I would die of mortification.
“Sorry,” he said with no sincerity whatsoever. He was enjoying this, that infuriating man.
Then he turned to Fern and his smile faded. “We’ve received the medical examiner’s report regarding Earl’s autopsy, and as we suspected, he was killed by blunt force trauma to the head.”
That didn’t surprise me, as a mental image of Earl’s bloody head resurfaced.
“And it has been confirmed that Fern’s shovel was the murder weapon,” he disclosed stiffly.
“Well, isn’t that what you already thought?” I asked, not understanding why he was so glum, unless he was here to…
“The only prints on the shovel belong to you, Fern.” He turned back to my aunt. “I’m sorry, but—”
I lunged to step between Cole and my aunt. “You’re not going to arrest her,” I challenged.
“No, not yet,” he stated calmly. “I came by as a courtesy to prepare you.”
“Prepare?” I folded my arms across my chest. “Fern didn’t kill Earl. And her prints are on the shovel because it belongs to her! Cole, you know this!” I threw up my hands in disgust.
“Charlee, would you please listen? I’m not done.” His voice was stern, commanding.
I retreated a few steps and leaned against the island.
“Fern, you’re probably aware that a new district attorney was elected recently—”
Fern snorted. “Yeah, the snooty Mitchell girl. What a joke.”
Cole scowled.
“Who is she?” My gaze darted from Fern to Cole.
“I’m sure you’ve heard your parents mention the Mitchells,” Fern said to me.
“Is this the Mitchells who own Maritime Manufacturing? I think my parents were concerned he was going to run against Dad for mayor, but then he didn’t.”
“Yes, that would be him. This is his daughter.”
Cole cleared his throat. “Her name is Harper. She has an Ivy League law degree and moved
