Deadly Neighbors (A River Valley Mystery) by Hickey Cynthia

Author:Hickey, Cynthia [Hickey, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2012-06-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

When I floated into the house, Mom and Leroy sat in front of the television watching a game show. She’d been spending a lot of time with the man. I definitely needed to learn more about him.

Mom raised her eyebrows before turning to Leroy. “Uh-oh. My daughter looks like a woman who’s been thoroughly kissed.”

Leroy winked. “Want a look to match?”

Mom giggled and punched his shoulder. “Silly. Not in front of my daughter.”

I rolled my eyes. Dusk or not, I needed to give them privacy, or go blind. “I’m going to work on the shed. See y’all lovebirds later.”

The grin on my face must have matched the Cheshire Cat’s. Mom’s description of the way I looked mirrored how I felt. Thoroughly kissed. Yep, I liked that analogy.

My finger sported a blister from my stupidity with the Tazer. Maybe I should detour to get a band-aid. “What do you think, Cleo? Should I play injured or get to work.” My dog’s ears rose, and her tail thumped the floor. “To work it is. Come on. You can keep me company while I clean out our new home.”

Cleo padded along behind me, clearly pleased and excited to be in my company. The front door to the guesthouse squeaked when I opened it, reminding me I’d need to oil its hinges one day. One flick of the light switch showed Mom had followed through with her promise to have Leroy install new bulbs.

The pile of boxes and plastic crates did nothing to make me excited about the job ahead. They towered above me like blocks stacked by a toddler, threatening to teeter and crash down on my head with the slightest breeze.

“This could be hazardous to our health.” I shoved aside dust-covered curtains. The early evening light barely cut through the grime on the windows. “I’m not sure where to start, Cleo girl.” I unstacked the nearest pile of boxes and sat cross-legged on the wooden floor.

The first box revealed tax records older than I was. I’d really have to talk to Mom about the art of shredding. The next held old photo albums of sepia-toned and black-and-white family members of decades gone by. I settled down to take a trip back in time. At this rate, I wouldn’t have anything for Stephanie to sell at her yard sale, and I’d never have this place habitable for myself and Lindsey before my daughter graduated high school.

Moon beams caressed my legs before I’d finished. My back ached, and my tail bone felt bruised. I carefully replaced the photo albums and reached for the next box. My maternity clothes. Those could go. I shoved them closer to the door.

Nostalgia greeted me with the next one. My father’s old medical journals. He’d loved reading through them every time one of his old cronies had some ache or pain. He’d never had the opportunity or means to attend medical school, so he’d done the next best thing; read everything he could get his hands on in the medical field.

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