“Accident?”
“Teresa was thrown from a horse and paralyzed.”
“What a terrible tragedy,” Carlita said.
“The Honeycutts sued the owner of the riding stable. It was a mess. Half of the Savannah residents took the Honeycutt’s side while the rest sided with the stable owners.” Mercedes glanced at her watch. “I better get goin’. Don’t want to be late for my meeting.”
Carlita followed her daughter to the door. “Be careful.”
“I’m gonna be keepin’ a close eye on the others in the group. It’s too much of a coincidence they all knew I was meetin’ Luis and next thing you know, the guy takes a bullet.”
Carlita followed her daughter to the bottom of the stairs and held the door while Mercedes steered her Segway into the alley.
“Oh. I almost forgot to tell ya. I snagged us a VIP tour of the Honeycutt Manor tomorrow night at nine.” Mercedes hopped onto the Segway. “All I had to do was tell them we lived in Walton Square and owned the old casket company’s building.”
“Great,” Carlita muttered. “I can hardly wait.”
Chapter 7
Mercedes eased her Segway to the side of the bike rack, looped the cable around an end bar and snapped the lock in place. She removed her helmet and then made her way inside the small bookstore.
The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in the air and Mercedes sniffed appreciatively. She liked to tease Cricket that she knew how to lure new customers to the store by offering free samples of her gourmet coffees and tea.
The murmur of soft voices echoed from the back and Mercedes zigzagged around the biography bookshelf, past the travel section until she reached the conference room where the small group of authors regularly met.
She caught Stephanie Rumsfield’s eye and made her way over to an empty seat.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Stephanie said. “We’ve been sitting here, trying to figure out how on earth you managed to get caught up in Jon Luis’ murder investigation.”
“I was lucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Mercedes slumped into the seat and slid her helmet onto the table. “What a mess.”
Cricket hurried into the room carrying a carafe of coffee in one hand and juggling a stack of cups in the other. “I saw Austin walk in. The only person we’re waiting on is Tom Muldoon. He called a short time ago and said he might be a couple of minutes late.”
Mercedes took the coffee cups from Cricket. “I wonder if they serve decent coffee in prison.”
“That’s not funny,” Cricket gasped. “We’ve got to figure out what happened to poor Jon Luis and clear your name.”
“At least they didn’t show your mugshot on the news,” Austin Crawford drawled as he stepped into the room. “If you were gonna take him out, you shouldn’t have told us about the meeting.”
“I did not take him out,” Mercedes said. “He was already a goner when I got there.” She caught a movement out in the front of the store. “Tom is here.”
Cricket stuck her head into the hall. “You got the front under control Tillie?”
“Yes ma’am.” Tillie waddled to the doorway. “Now y’all holler if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Cricket closed the door as Tom Muldoon settled into an empty seat.
“Cricket said there was something to report on Jon Luis. Did you meet with him, Mercedes?” Tom asked.
“Sort of, except I didn’t get to talk to him. When I got to our meeting spot, I found him lying on the ground, dead. He died of a single gunshot wound.”
“How terrible,” Stephanie said. “Maybe he was caught up in a love triangle and his lover shot him.”
“Only a romance writer would come up with that conclusion,” Austin said. “Or maybe it was one of those Hatfield and McCoys-type family feuds that spilled over from decades ago and an old enemy murdered him.”
“Only a historical mystery writer would think that,” Stephanie shot back.
“Touché’,” Austin grinned.
“Regardless of the circumstances, the lead investigator, Skip Wilson, is determined to pin it on me,” Mercedes said. “He stopped by our pawnshop earlier to take a look at our guns for sale and asked a bunch of questions.”
“You’re a mystery writer, Mercedes. What do you think happened?” Cricket asked.
“I don’t know what to think, other than I’m still in shock. I have a couple pictures of the crime scene.”
“Let’s see,” Tom said.
Mercedes whipped her cell phone out of her back pocket. “They’re here somewhere. Ah, here they are.” She handed her phone to Cricket, who slipped her reading glasses on and studied the pictures.
“He’s in an unnatural position.” She flipped to the second photo. “Are these his keys? Yes, I suppose they probably are. I see a pool of blood,” she said as she handed the phone to Austin.
“Nothing noteworthy on the body, but the set of keys might be a clue,” Austin said before passing the phone to Stephanie.
“Maybe Jon Luis was going to meet his lover and they’re hotel room keys,” she said.
“Let me look.” Tom Muldoon quietly studied the photos. “I see a key fob. Luis probably locked his car door, turned around and met his murderer. Never even had time to put his keys in his pocket.” He handed the phone to Mercedes.
“There’s something else,” Mercedes said. “The detective told me Luis had written my name down on a yellow pad. They found it in his apartment on his desk. I guess he was checkin’ me out.”
“Or maybe he wanted to check out what kind of books you already published,” Cricket theorized.
“True. I hadn’t considered that angle.” The group discussed Luis’ death at length. With little information to go on, they were
