Page 41 of Trouble Comes in Threes

“Why don’t you go ask your brother?” Dena snapped.

“His name was Harvey Smith,” said the woman behind us. “He lived in Pickle Junction and worked for Jefferson Sanitation.”

I spun around to face her. She looked young, probably in her twenties, and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

“You knew him?” I asked softly.

“He was my brother.” Her gaze narrowed on me. “Is your husband really the sheriff?”

I nodded. “Yes. Joe Simmons is my husband.”

“Do you know if he’s gonna just mark it up as another junkie’s death?”

“I promise you that he’ll do a thorough investigation.”

Dena snorted. “Like he kept his promise to me?”

“He didn’t promise you a doggone thing, Dena,” Neely Kate said. “You two dated for about two minutes, nearly four years ago. Can you just let it go? I thought you were with Mitch Castlebaum.”

Dena lifted her chin. “We broke up.”

Hence, her renewed campaign against us.

I turned my back on Dena and said, “Joe is a fair man, and he’ll investigate your brother’s death. I promise.” I expected Dena to snort again, but she kept quiet this time. “Would you like Joe’s phone number so you can call him and talk to him about the case?”

“Why would you do that?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

“Because he’s fair, and he’ll listen to you,” I said, digging one of Joe’s business cards from my purse. I held it toward her. “He has an open-door policy with the citizens of this county.”

She took the card and looked it over before stuffing it into her jeans pocket. I was pretty sure she didn’t plan on calling him.

“What’s your name?” I asked softly.

Her eyes hardened, and I was sure she wasn’t going to answer, but then she said, “Darlene. Darlene Smith.”

“Well, Darlene, as soon as I leave here with some cupcakes, I’ll send Joe a text and let him know to expect a call from you.”

“Is this some kind of trap?”

“No, of course not,” I said insistently. “I only want to help you. I promise.”

She stared at me in amazement. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re grieving, and you want answers. And Joe’s the man to find them for you.” I stepped aside. “Now, why don’t you order whatever it was you came here for, and Neely Kate and I will order next.”

She walked to the counter, and while she ordered her breakfast sandwich and coffee, Neely Kate leaned into my ear. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a murder in Pickle Junction?” she hissed.

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“It’s not like there have been a lot of murders around here lately.”

We both knew she meant not like there used to be.

“And it’s not like I know anything,” I said under by breath. “I wasn’t lying when I said it’s an official investigation. Joe’s not spilling any secrets. Besides, honestly, I forgot.”

“But is it a coincidence that you’re not seeing yourself dead anymore?” she whispered, so no one else could hear. “What if the murder prevented it from happening?”

“We don’t know that it was me.”

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