The Last Word by Gerri Lewis

Author:Gerri Lewis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

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Half an hour later I was showered and dressed in my comfort clothes—yoga pants and UConn sweatshirt. My hair was still damp and stringy, though remembering yesterday’s embarrassment when I’d emerged in hot-pink Hanky Pankys, I took time to choose nice underwear. I didn’t bother with makeup.

After the humiliating events of yesterday, I had barely made the midnight deadline for Lottie Arlington’s obituary. Now, Saturday morning, I realized with a pang of regret that I had missed the deadline for Burton’s last words. Time to face the music.

When I called to explain that I had run into personal problems and asked if Marietta would like a recommendation for someone else, I was surprised when she asked if I could still write the obituary.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I now realize that it is better to have the obituary accompany the service notice. Please say you can still do it. I promise to make it worth your time.”

It didn’t take more than a second for me to agree. I wanted—no, needed—Burton’s obit in my portfolio, and I promised to get right on it. That is, I thought, until I’m arrested for murder. I’d have to ask Kip if I would be allowed to bring my computer to jail.

Kip arrived in blue jeans and a casual shirt. His tousled dark hair said he was riding his motorcycle.

“I guess you’re not on duty.” I said.

“No, it’s not my shift.”

At least he wasn’t there to arrest me.

The head-to-toe he then gave me made me feel like a specimen under a microscope.

“Are you okay? What did the doctor say at the hospital?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “No asthma or COPD, so no danger that the smoke I inhaled would trigger either of those things.”

I didn’t tell him that my throat felt like someone had run a rake over it.

“You could have died in that fire, Winter.” Kip put his hands on my shoulders and to my surprise pulled me close, nearly smothering me in his arms.

“What was that for?” I asked, when he loosened his grip.

Kip did his brow rub and completely ignored my question. “Can we talk?”

By now Diva was downstairs and pacing near the door.

“She has to go out,” I said, nodding toward the pup.

“I’ll go with you.”

As we walked down Mamanasco and across North Salem Road to the high school campus, Kip told me that despite finding Goodwin’s South Salem rental, he had not located Max.

We were almost back at the cottage when a black pickup truck, the same type that had been behind me yesterday, cruised slowly by. The license plate started with AV.

“What kind of truck did Mark Goodwin drive?” I asked.

Kip studied me. “Why do you care?”

I explained about the pickup. “I think someone is following me.”

“It’s not Goodwin’s truck—that’s at the pool house. Besides, Goodwin is dead.”

“Good point,” I said.

Back at my own cottage, I put a K-Cup in the Keurig for Kip and the pot on to boil for my tea. Kip filled Diva’s bowls with water and food.

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