“What happened?”
“Murder…” I whispered.
“What, child? Another one? Isn’t it rather early in the season for another murder after we’ve only just had one last week?”
I licked my dry lips, my only concern getting to Uncle Darling, who never handled a crisis well. “I’ve got to go, Atti, and yes, I’ll be safe. I promise. But I have to go get him. According to Uncle Darling, someone murdered Gable Norton—and Monty saw it happen!”
Chapter 2
Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Written by Frank Loesser, Henry D. Haynes, Jethro Burns, 1944
I flew out the door and into the garage, beeping my truck, climbing in, and pressing the garage door open.
As I began to back out, Hobbs was suddenly directly behind me in my rearview mirror, making me slam on the brakes. He came to the window and knocked on it, his handsome face concerned, his knit cap covered in snow.
I pressed the button to roll down the window. “You scared the devil out of me!”
“Hal? What’s goin’ on? I was just taking out my garbage and saw your taillights. Everythin’ okay?” he asked, his Southern accent thicker when he was worried. “It’s stormin’ pretty hard out.”
“Remember I told you about my Uncle Darling coming to visit with his husband Monty this week?”
He grinned then, making his beard lift and the deep grooves on either side of his mouth more pronounced. “I do. I was looking forward to meeting ’em. Is everything all right?”
“I have to go get him. He’s at the convenience store just outside of town. His husband’s been hurt—and apparently, the convenience store clerk was killed, and Monty witnessed it.”
Hobbs blinked, but he didn’t miss a beat. “You okay to drive?”
I gripped the steering wheel. “I’m fine. I grew up here, remember? This is like a walk in the park for me.”
“If you don’t object, I’ll come with you. Call me a typical man…that is to say, I’m sure you can handle drivin’ in this blizzard just fine, but I’d like to go with you to be sure. Doesn’t mean I don’t trust your abilities as a driver. I know you don’t need a man to drive in the snow. Just means I don’t wanna see you out on that dark country road all alone.”
I couldn’t help but smile. It didn’t upset me that Hobbs wanted to look out for me. Not even a little, as long as he tacked on that little part where he acknowledged I was okay doing it alone.
Still, he was right. Though it was only late afternoon, it was already dark on that short stretch of road from town to the convenience store. Dark and deserted.
“Make no mistake, this isn’t a blizzard, Texas Man. It’s a squall, but by all means, hop in. I appreciate the company.”
He rounded the back of the vehicle and climbed in, the scent of wet snow and his fresh cologne invading the interior of my truck.
Hobbs turned to me and gave me a warm, sympathetic smile. “So what’s going on? How can I help?”
I handed him my phone. “Read the texts from my uncle.”
He was quiet for a moment as I backed out of the driveway and plowed forward into the snowy night. Flipping on my satellite radio, I chose the Christmas station and turned it low, letting the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby soothe me.
But my stomach was in a jumble of nerves. I wasn’t sure what I was going to walk into. The last crime scene I’d witnessed, I saw from a distance. Having a personal stake in it took it to a whole new level.
“Wow,” Hobbs mumbled. “He sounds pretty freaked out.”
I nodded, navigating the small twists and turns in the road. “He is, and I’m going to warn you, he’s pretty dramatic on the whole. I love him, but he takes embellishing to a new height. So I’m hoping maybe Gable isn’t dead and this is all just a scratch or something, because the sight of blood makes my uncle go weak in the knees.”
“I hate to tell you this, but he did say he saw someone running away and that Gable is dead. Maybe it’s no exaggeration.”
But I could still hope it was Uncle Darling being Uncle Darling—flamboyant, sarcastic, and more flamboyant. As we rounded the final bend to the convenience store, I saw the flash of red and blue lights and wondered if Stiles was actually there.
He’d soothe my uncle with his familiar face, but I couldn’t remember his schedule these days. I felt like lately, he was always working to prove some point to that sourpuss Detective Godfrey.
I slowed to a crawl and parked on the side of the road, the lights in the convenience store—plus the ambulance and police car flashers—bright enough for us to walk the rest of the way.
Hobbs was out of the truck before I could blink, pulling open my door and offering me his gloved hand to help me down.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I don’t think he was exaggerating.”
Nodding, my words were shaky when I whispered back, “I think you’re right.”
The convenience store loomed in front of me, a box-shaped structure of neon signs for beer and soft drink companies, with a red tin roof and a newspaper stand.
As we clomped through the snow, I heard my Uncle and his hysterical sobs while someone was carried off on a gurney and someone else shouted orders before loading whoever was on the gurney into the ambulance.
“Hal!” I heard Stiles call to me, and caught sight of him behind the crowd of police and forensics team members, his arms raised high. “Over here!”
I held a hand over my eyes to keep the flakes from pounding my face and crunched across the parking lot with Hobbs leading the way, noting the huge drops of blood as we got closer to the store.
Feeney’s Fuel and Gruel, owned by Lamont Feeney, had been around since I was a kid. We used to ride our bikes here in the summer to buy ice cream and chips or a soda, because Feeney’s always had the best ice cream—the word according to Stiles.
Mr. Feeney made a point of stocking Bomb Pops for Stiles the minute he’d found out he liked them, and he still did to this day. But the best thing about Feeney’s was the lobster roll sandwiches—or if you’re a local, the lobstah rolls.
Weird for a gas station to have them, I know, but he made the best lobster roll in all of Marshmallow Hollow.
That he’d managed not to end up bought out by a bigger corporation was admirable. Though, he had turned the management of the store over to Gable Norton last year, when Gable came home from rehab and needed a job. Mr. Feeney worked with all sorts of folks who had substance abuse problems at the church in town, because he’s a recovering alcoholic himself.
So when Gable cleaned up, Mr. Feeney was the first person to extend a hand to help him get on his feet. I hated thinking he was dead after he’d come so far…
I waved to Stiles and pushed my way around the sidewalk toward him, and that’s when my uncle saw me and fairly collapsed against my chest.
“Oh, Hal!” he cried, using my scarf to wipe his tears. “Oh, Lamb, it’s dreadful. Just dreadful! He’s…he’s going to die! Monty’s going to die!”
Stiles was on hand to help me lead my uncle into the bright interior of the store, where it was warmer. “Don’t move from this spot, Hal. Okay? They’re still processing the crime scene, but they’ve taken Monty to the hospital.”