"How about I hang on to this for you for a bit, ma'am? I'll just clean and oil it and get it back to you," he said gently.
Her scowl faded into a reluctant smile. "Oh, you. You think you can charm the birds off the trees, don't you? Probably just eat them if you did. You stay away from my birdfeeder, tiger!"
Jack blinked. "Ah—I don't—"
"I promise he never, ever hunts birds, Granny Josephine. And I also promise—cross my heart—that we didn't think for a minute that you killed Earl."
"He owed me money," she said with great dignity. "I had a small poker problem back then. But I overcame it."
"Josephine," Aunt Ruby said, nudging me to one side. "Would you like to come in for pie?"
"Well. I don't like to impose."
Five minutes later, we were all eating pie and drinking lemonade.
After her second piece of pie—for such a tiny person, she had an appetite like Jack—Granny Josephine delicately wiped her mouth with her napkin and then looked at Jack.
"I'd be glad to help you investigate if you need it. I know everybody in this town and all the gossip going back over fifty years, I can assure you."
"That could be very helpful," he said. "Right now, I'm wondering if you know of anybody other than Beau or any of the people in this room who might have had a reason to kill Earl?"
"Nobody liked him, of course," she began, sitting up straight and preening at being the center of attention. "Sorry, Lorraine, but we didn't. Emeril and Harold told me he was stealing from them, and of course he tried to cheat at cards and was awful at it and owed money to everybody, even that lovely Nigel."
I nodded encouragement. "Anybody in particular?"
She blinked. "Oh! Did you talk to his ex-wife?"
Lorraine shot up from her chair. "Earl never had an ex-wife! I was his first!"
Josephine rolled her eyes. "Wanna bet? I met her once. He brought her to Nigel's before he met you. She was a dancer? No. A stripper. Over in Orlando. Went by the name Bertha. No, Brenda, no… Bubbles! Yes! Bubbles McHotpants, as I recall."
I slumped back in my chair. No problem. Now we only needed to find an AARP-carrying stripper named Bubbles McHotpants, figure out why somebody was shooting at us, and clear all my closest family and friends of suspicion of murder.
"I think we're going to need more pie," Jack said.
"I agree." Suddenly, I looked around, curious. "You know what's odd? Well, I realize odd is a relative term around here, but we haven't heard from the music box all day. I would have thought—"
Thump.
"Tiny Bubbles."
I never learn.
13
By the time we got my family and friends—AKA our pool of suspects—moved out of the house and on their way, minus one oversized pistol, I was ready for a nap and it wasn't even noon.
Sundays are not usually this exhausting.
I sat down on the porch swing and stared off into the distance. "What now?"
Jack opened the door to let Lou out and then joined me on the swing.
"Oh, and thanks for cleaning up the flower pot mess this morning before everybody got here."
"Sure. And as for what's next—how about lunch?"
I stared at him. "You've got to be kidding. Jack. Even you cannot be hungry after the enormous breakfast, followed by three pieces of pie, that you just consumed over the past couple of hours."
