A Life for a Life by Lynda McDaniel

Author:Lynda McDaniel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lynda McDaniel Books
Published: 2016-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

32

* * *

Della

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you wanted to make sure I couldn’t either?” Alex asked.

“No, I wanted to get your help.” To be honest, I didn’t mind waking him so I’d have someone to talk to. I’d been wide awake most of the night, worrying about Lucy and Izzy and that damned militia. I wanted to know everything about them, and I’d either have to wait until Sunday to head down to Asheville to scroll through the library’s microfiche—or I could get Mr. LexisNexis to do it for me.

I didn’t have a fax machine, and his report would be too confidential for the one at the drugstore. In the night, I’d remembered that the only lawyer in town, Marjorie McCrumb, owed me a favor. She was the customer who’d begged me to carry those baked goods from Asheville. I had to do a lot of haggling to get them to deliver once a week, and when I succeeded, she told me if I ever needed a favor, to give her a call. Then she added, “Besides legal representation, that is. You’re on the clock with that.” So all those scones she’d been stuffing her face with seemed worth a fax or two. I gave Alex her number and planned to alert her once I got off the phone—and the sun came up.

“I’ll see what I can find,” he said. I could hear the coffee grinder in the background. “So you want me to look up this militia in Timbuktu, right? I’m sure that homegrown group of fuckwads won’t even make a blip on the screen. Same goes for Lucia and Miguel Sanchez.”

“Hey, don’t take out your anger with me on them. Though I’m sure you’re right about those guys. Like the ones who came to the funeral and looked so out of place in the church? I can’t imagine this militia is more than a bad-boy club in the woods.”

I heard his coffee machine start to gurgle, and he mumbled something and hung up. I didn’t dare go back to sleep since the store opened in a couple of hours. I made some coffee, sat in my Barcalounger, and read the arts section of last Sunday’s paper. Next thing I knew, a horn was honking downstairs—and Jake was barking upstairs. I’d drifted off to sleep, and when I checked my watch, it was just after eight o’clock. I ran a comb through my hair, kissed Jake, and promised I’d be back to fix his breakfast.

The rest of the day, I felt jangled. I actually nodded off at the register around eleven o’clock, but the phone woke me. All I heard was whistling on the other end.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Me.”

Groggy from my short nap, I asked again, “Who?”

“Come on, Della, it’s me. Alex. Did I wake you?” He seemed amused, enjoying tit for tat.

“What was that sound you made?”

“I was trying to do that whistle people do when they’ve found something important. I should have wet my whistle before trying.”

“Next time.

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