Page 6 of Rest In Pink

“You’re the mayor’s wife and the first lady of Burney and you’re improving the town with low-income housing because you’re smart and business-savvy.”

She blinked.

“I’m not saying that’s what I want for you,” I told her. “I’m saying that based on the patterns in your life, Burney is your next focus, and God help us all.” When she didn’t say anything, I said, “So today, I’m doing a light rewrite on Chapter One. Tomorrow I will do Chapter Two which is your pre-marriage life and your acting career. I will be drawing conclusions that you will need to verify. Does this work for you?”

She nodded, so I picked up my laptop and moved into the library—the Blue House is huge—and spent the rest of the afternoon checking for typos and inconsistencies. Easy work.

At four-thirty, I went back out to the living room, where Anemone was still sitting on the couch, staring into space. Thinking.

That probably wasn’t good, but it also wasn’t my problem.

“I promised to meet Molly and Mac and Vince at the Red Box at five,” I told her, “and I still have to change, so I’m stopping now. Want to come with?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll find something here.”

“Do you want me to bring you anything?”

“Oh, good heavens, no.” Anemone waved me away. “Go chow down with your sister and your hot cop and his firefighter friend.”

That was suspicious. “Expecting company?”

Anemone looked off into space. “You never know.”

“George dropping by with takeout?” George was proving to be far-ranging and open-minded in his take-out provision. I think he’d go directly to China for it if Anemone asked. George was, basically, toast.

“Possibly.” Anemone flipped her hand up to look at her manicure. “The mayor also said he had some things about the history of this house to show me.”

“You’re only renting this house for the summer,” I said sternly. “You don’t need a history of it. And that’s not what O’Toole wants to show you.” I narrowed my eyes. “This isn’t your attempt to kneecap him before the election, is it? Poison his gin? Seduce him witless?”

“He’s married, Liz,” Anemone said, trying to sound shocked.

“Yes, and his wife is nobody to mess with.”

“Your uncle also said he might stop by to make sure everything was okay with the house. It’s his family home, you know.” She looked up at me, under her lashes. “Which means this is your family home, too.”

Since my uncle is also my father—long story—I knew she was baiting me now. She wouldn’t touch my dog of an uncle-dad with a ten-foot nail extension.

“Well, you have a wonderful time with him. Everybody else has.” I picked up my bag to go upstairs and change. “If Thacker calls, do not answer. Do not let him in the house.”

“Good heavens.” Anemone blinked up at me. “He’s not a serial killer, he’s just an annoying little writer.”

“Annoying little writers can kill reputations,” I said. “Especially Thacker’s kind of annoying little writer. Do not open the door to him. Or to the mayor. Or my uncle. Father. You know.”

Anemone smiled at me, all fluff gone. “Do you really think I can’t take care of myself, Liz?”

“I was protectingthem,” I said, and escaped upstairs to change into Vince’s requested dress for the night before the rest of the male population of Burney dropped by to show her things.

Chapter Four

Before I met Liz for dinner, I followed my end-of-shift ritual. I drove across town and turned east on Factory Road. How it got its name was evident: To the left of where the road began to climb a large hill was the old cardboard factory sprawling over a lot that covered three blocks. The factory had been closed twenty years ago, putting half of Burney out of work, and then abandoned completely six years ago, and then a couple of months ago the center of the interior had burned to scorched bricks and twisted machinery in a mystery fire. It was an eyesore and a reminder that Burney had once seen better times. Evidence that the town was now mired in many years of slow decline. But I also wondered whether Thacker’s mention of arson applied to that fire. Did he know something the rest of us didn’t?

If you’re into things like the Rocky Mountains, or even the not-far-away Appalachians, Burney’s terrain is mostly rolling land full of rocks. But we do have some significant hills and this particular hill was crowned by the Blue House at the very top, where Liz was working with Anemone Patterson for the summer. Below it was the lesser Little Blue House (still 3500 square feet), where Faye, the current Blue matriarch, had moved in with her widowed daughter-in-law and granddaughter so that Anemone and Liz could rent the big house for a ridiculous amount of money. Also up there was the Blue Country Club where Lavender Blue had died.

I wasn’t going that far.

I stopped at the hairpin turn where a dual set of brand-new guardrails, double-anchored, protected the void. Will Porter and I had put them in a month ago because this is where Navy Blue had driven through the old rails and died, and then MaryLou Blue had tried to kill Liz and George and gone through the temporary barrier and survived. Will and I were getting real tired of retrieving cars and bodies, dead and alive, out of the ravine. A lot happened in Liz’s first week back in Burney, but things have quieted down since then.

I pulled over to the side. It’s not that I’m morbid, but there is a great view up here of Burney and, even better, of the Dark and Bloody Ohio River. I’d gotten the dark and bloody part from the title of a history by Allan Eckert describing the westward expansion along the river in the late 18th Century. A hell of a lot of people, both Native Americans and settlers, had died in the river and along the banks, often in really brutal ways.

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