in particular?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, I’m concerned about this murder case,” R.B. told him. “This is a bad one, and we both know it. Unless y’all just get lucky, it may become an unsolved murder. Bernie’s not going to accept that easily. She’s got a lot to learn, and that’s where you come in. You have the experience she lacks. I want you to help her … guide her along through this case.”
Jim blew out a deeply inhaled breath. No beating around the bush for R.B. Granger. Bernie’s father said exactly what he thought. The only problem was that Jim wasn’t sure he could make that kind of a deal. “Bernie’s my boss. She’s the sheriff, I’m just the chief—”
“Dinner is served,” a feminine voice called from the doorway.
Taking this as an opportunity not to finish his conversation with R.B., Jim turned his attention to the owner of that syrupy sweet voice. The woman standing in the doorway, smiling, her long, curly black hair framing her beautiful face, all but took Jim’s breath away. Tall and willowy, with slender curves in all the right places, the lady was a real knockout.
“Y’all heard my little girl,” R.B. announced. “If I know my Brenda, we’ve got a feast waiting for us in the dining room.”
Jim allowed the others to go first, taking his time, bringing up the rear, so he was surprised that when he entered the hallway, R.B.’s “little girl” was still there. When he passed by, he glanced her way. She smiled at him, then reached out and slipped her arm through his.
“I’m Robyn,” she told him. “Bernie’s sister.”
“I’m—”
“Jimmy Norton. I know. I’ve heard all about you from Daddy and Bernie. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Have you?”
When she flashed that thousand-watt smile at him, his stomach muscles tightened. “I hear Mom and Dad are going to be looking after your son. I love kids and I’m a great babysitter. I’ll be happy to help out the folks with—What’s your son’s name?”
“Kevin.”
“And how old is Kevin?”
“Twelve.”
As they entered the dining room, Robyn whispered to him. “I’m supposed to sit next to Raymond and across from the new minister, but that’s Mama’s plan, not mine. She’s always matchmaking.”
Jim noted that the table sat eight, with R.B. and his wife—who was an older, shorter version of her beautiful younger daughter—residing at each end, Raymond and Helen on the left, and Matthew on the right.
Bernie placed a bread basket on the end of the table by her mother, then headed toward the other end with another basket. Just as she started to sit down beside the handsome, young minister, Robyn rushed forward, all but dragging Jim.
“Come on, Jimmy, you sit between me and Reverend Donaldson.” She looked at her sister and said, “You sit over there next to Raymond.”
Jim glanced at Bernie, whose facial expression didn’t alter in the slightest, but he noted something in her eyes. Just a hint of displeasure, so subtle that he felt certain no one else caught it. For a split second she looked right at him, then averted her gaze quickly and took her place at the table beside Raymond Long. Then Jim sat exactly where Robyn had told him to sit, between her and Matthew Donaldson.
During the course of the meal, Robyn didn’t pay much attention to the minister or anyone else; instead, she concentrated on Jim. The more she talked, the more he realized she wasn’t really saying anything. Her main topic of conversation was herself. Jim offered her an agreeable smile now and then and answered when she asked a question, nodding fairly often and replying yes or no. By the time Mrs. Granger served Mississippi mud pie for dessert, Jim realized that Robyn reminded him of someone. She reminded him of Mary Lee. It wasn’t that they resembled each other, except they were both very pretty and had great figures. No, it was more a personality thing. Robyn seemed to be as self-centered and egotistical as his ex-wife. She wanted, probably needed, to be the center of attention. She knew she was pretty, that men found her attractive, and that fact fed her sizable ego.
It wasn’t that Jim didn’t like Robyn. He did. But he’d been badly burned by one extremely high-maintenance woman and tended to steer clear of others like her. Then again, he might make an exception where Robyn Granger was concerned.
Just as Jim took his first bite of scrumptious pie, Bernie’s cell phone rang.
“Oh dear, I wish you could turn that thing off at the dinner table.” Brenda sighed. “But I know you can’t, your being the sheriff and all. You’d think I’d be used to having my dinners interrupted by business calls.”
Bernie scooted back her chair, stood and walked out into the foyer. Jim glanced over his shoulder and watched her as she paced back and forth, doing more listening than talking.
Robyn said something to him, but he didn’t understand her because he was too busy keeping an eye on Bernie. “Huh?”
“I said why don’t we—”
“Jim, we’ve got to go,” Bernie called to him from the doorway.
When he turned to Robyn, she put on her best little-girl pout. “Business calls,” he told her, then laid his napkin on the table, shoved back his chair and stood. “Mrs. Granger, thank you for a wonderful dinner. I appreciate y’all being so hospitable.”
“You must come back again,” Brenda said. “We’d love to have you any old time.”
R.B. stood. “I’ll walk you and Bernie out.”
R.B. caught up with Jim just as he joined Bernie in the foyer. “So, what’s up?” he asked.
She looked from Jim to her father, then replied to her father’s question. “That was Charlie Patterson. They’ve found Richie Lowery.”
“This is the Preston girl’s old boyfriend, right?” R.B. asked.
Bernie nodded.
“Where was he?”
“I don’t know. It seems he heard we were looking for him, so he just showed up at my office about ten minutes ago.”
“So he hadn’t skipped out on us like we thought when we couldn’t find him at home yesterday and nobody seemed to know where he was,” Jim said.
“No, apparently not,” Bernie replied, then turned to her father. “Dad, we have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure, sure. You two go on.”
Once outside, Bernie quickened her steps, as if she couldn’t wait to get away.
“Hey, hold up,” Jim called to her.
She slowed her pace and waited for him.
“Your car or mine?” he asked.
“Yours. There are several others blocking me in.” She glanced at all the vehicles parked in the drive and along the street. Her gaze paused on the old rattletrap truck parked on the street. “Is that yours?”
“Yep.”
“Didn’t they pay you a decent salary in Memphis?” she asked teasingly.
“Better than what you’re paying me,” he tossed back at her. “But until my wife remarried, I was paying her alimony, as well as child support. Add to that the fact that I’m socking away as much as I can for Kevin’s college fund and… you do the math.”
She headed toward his truck. When she reached the curb and started to open the door, he reached around her and opened it for her. She jumped.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he told her.
Hoisting herself up and into the cab, she replied, “Don’t apologize for being a gentleman. It’s