“Are you still having trouble settling in? It’s not easy for me, either. I’m homesick too.” I lowered myself to the hardwood floor beside him and stroked his soft, warm fur. “It’s quieter here, though. No sirens from emergency vehicles in the middle of the night. No neighbors, blaring their sound system or TVs. Don’t you like that? I do.” Mostly.
Phoenix gave me the side-eye as though I was missing the point. But after almost sixteen weeks, he still wouldn’t tell me what the point was. He’d always been moody, but this silent treatment was next level.
“I could use a little help, pal. We’ve gone to the vet twice. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, either.”
Still nothing. Even as I stroked him, he didn’t meow. He didn’t purr. He didn’t even stretch. He just ignored me as he stared through the French doors toward the Chinese privet bushes that edged our lawn. The real estate agent had taken pride in telling me those were the same hedges that surrounded the University of Georgia football stadium. She’d been offended I hadn’t been impressed.
I pushed to my feet. “I’m hitting the showers. Hang tight.”
Within the hour, bathed and dressed, I hustled back to the kitchen. Phoenix remained in front of the French doors, where he continued to ignore me. Pretending not to notice, I brought my cinnamon-flavored oatmeal, coffee, and orange juice to the dining table. I opened The Peach Coast Crier, shaking it more vigorously than necessary in an effort to get Phoenix’s attention. No dice. We usually read the news together, but after our relocation, my cat had stopped keeping up with current events. Maybe he missed The New York Times.
“Fiona Lyle-Hayes’s murder’s on the front page.” I shared the information over my shoulder. No reaction. “It’s sad. I’m sure she’d planned to celebrate her first book.” I shook my head as I sipped my coffee. The scent of the medium roast slapped my senses. Cream, four sugars. My sweet tooth imprisoned me.
The story went into detail about Fiona’s debut novel, In Death Do We Part. It was being hailed as an “engrossing mystery with twists and turns sure to keep readers breathlessly engaged.” Impressed, I made a mental note to ask if we had copies for the library.
The article didn’t reveal many personal insights about Fiona beyond her first publishing credit. It noted she’d been married to Buddy Hayes, who’d died a year earlier. She’d had a stepson, Robert Hayes, from Buddy’s previous marriage. Thinking about Betty Rodgers-Hayes, I shook my head. Who attended their ex-husband’s new wife’s book signing? Was that a Southern thing?
I arched an eyebrow at Phoenix’s back. “I wouldn’t go to my ex’s new wife’s signing on a bet.” Not so much as a flick of his ear in response. I returned to the paper.
The story quoted Deputy Jedidiah Whatley. “Ms. Lyle-Hayes’s murder is a terrible tragedy for our community. We’re determined to find justice for her and to ensure the safety of our community.”
The only personal quote in the article was attributed to Zelda Taylor, the Coastal Fiction Writers president. “Fiona had been our group’s treasurer for almost a year. She managed our money. She was good at that. Our condolences to her family and friends.”
Zelda had used the same phrasing about money during the book signing. Was that really all she’d had to say for the article, or had the reporter run out of space?
I glanced toward Phoenix. “There was no love lost between Zelda and Fiona.”
Phoenix cut me a dismissive glare before returning to his surveillance. That hadn’t been a pleasant response, but at least he’d given me something. I crossed to the foyer and gathered him to me. He melted in my arms when I stroked his forehead.
I carried him back to the dining table with its matching chairs. “It’s like I told you yesterday: I wish I could’ve given the deputies more information. I wish I’d seen or heard something, but I’d been with Jo and Spence in the main part of the store the entire time.”
I froze beside the rectangular table. “Phoenix, why didn’t I hear anything? Why didn’t any of us hear anything? If someone was stabbing me multiple times, people would hear me in Atlanta. Why didn’t anyone hear Fiona from just across the store?”
Atlanta was three hundred forty-two miles from Peach Coast. I’d looked it up. Driving sixty-five miles an hour, it would take five hours and twenty-six minutes to travel between the locales.
“Oh, well. The deputies will figure it out.” Shaking my head, I reclaimed my seat.
Phoenix started to purr. Was I finally getting through to him after all these months?
“There’s my boy.” I gave him a brief squeeze before continuing to stroke his forehead.
I scanned the other news stories. One was a preview of the next town council budget planning meeting. Hopefully, council members would look kindly on the library. Another article revealed plans for the annual Independence Day parade, still two months away. The paper also carried an announcement of an upcoming readers-and-authors event to be held at one of the beachside hotels. I felt a rush of excitement.
I’d started reading about the event when my cell phone rang. The screen displayed Jo’s name.
“Hey, Jo.” I switched hands so I could continue petting Phoenix. “How’s your Sun—”
“They think I did it.” She was frantic. “They think I killed Fiona.”
Chapter 5
Fifteen minutes later, Jo was sitting at my dining table. “The deputies interrogated me.” Her voice squeaked with panic.
Phoenix gave her a startled look before running from the room. His claws clicked against the honey wood flooring. Jo’s anxiety had been too much for him.
I’d offered to go to Jo’s house, but she’d insisted on coming to mine. Perhaps she’d needed distance between herself and her latest encounter with law enforcement. I brought out the big
