HOMOSASSA SHADOWS Read Online Free

and shore, noticing every blemish in the soil, every indentation in the coating of oyster shells.
    “Detective Strong!” she called finally, smiling. “Are you working in Citrus County now?”
    Puzzled, Sergeant Jeremiah Strong turned. His slacks and shirt were as crisp as the leaves of a cardboard fern, his expression as unbending. She had hoped for an answering grin. Instead, he clapped one large hand to his forehead and shook his head. “Lord, protect me,” he said. She waited for his hallmark Bible quotation. It came, perhaps predictably, from the book of Job. “The thing I have greatly feared is come upon me. How long will ye vex my soul?”
    Brandy stepped forward and held out her hand, which he took briefly, then sighed. “I never know what to call you women who don’t use your husband’s last name. Are you Mrs. Able or Miss O’Bannon?”
    Brandy smiled. “Neither, actually. I’m the wife of John Able, whose name is Brandy O’Bannon. But come on now, friend. Working together in Cedar Key wasn’t all that bad, was it? After all, you caught the bad guy red-handed. I thought you were pleased.”
    He dropped his head. “Almost lost my rank over that case, O’Bannon. Your little plan wasn’t exactly accepted procedure. I put a civilian in danger. You.”
    She moved a few feet closer. “But I’m sure that’s not why you’re in Citrus County now.”
    He crossed long arms over his chest and looked down at her. “No. Better pay. A bigger county, and one that’s growing. In spite of a certain reporter, I had a good reputation. It saved me. We moved to Inverness two years ago so I could take a job at the Sheriffs Office there.” Brandy remembered hearing about Strong’s family. He had a patient wife and two children, one a boy he coached in Little League. She’d liked that about him.
    The body of Timothy Hart, covered with a sheet at last, was being lifted into the patrol boat on a litter, accompanied by the medical examiner. The deputies glanced at Strong, seeking his okay. He nodded.
    “Now looks like we have another death,” Brandy said. “May be natural, of course. Mr. Hart said he was sick. Still, the medical examiner was a little suspicious, and the victim did ask me to get in touch with him. He had a story he wanted to tell.”
    Strong put his hand back on his hips and leaned forward. “Look, Miss O’Bannon or Mrs. Able, or whatever you call yourself, let me be clear. This is law enforcement business. Sometimes you got a problem with that. The Sheriff s Office has a spokesperson, a nice lady you’ll find at the Command Center in Inverness. Go talk to her tomorrow. I have the statement you gave the deputy. I’ll call you if I need you.”
    Strong did not wait for a reply, but began stalking toward the house. Brandy followed. “Forgive me for coming along, Sergeant,” she said sweetly, “but I’ve been invited for lunch by Mrs. Flint. She lives here.”
    Brandy thought she heard him groan as he knocked on the door, but she also thought her presence made Alma May more welcoming when she admitted them both. They stepped into a living room with sturdy maple sideboard and table, a fireplace with a mantle, a stiff looking sofa and two upholstered chairs. The detective asked to use a separate room. He would first speak to the realtor, Melba Grapple.
    Alma May headed back toward the kitchen. “Beats all,” she said. “Finally get a buyer and he passes away. Thought he was looking poorly. I’ve still got one other boarder, but he’s leaving tomorrow.” She paused and glanced at Brandy. “Hope you and Melba like home-made vegetable soup. I’ll heat up some from last night. Early this morning, I brought in a mess of greens and fresh tomatoes.” She gave Brandy a no-nonsense look.
    “And don’t come into the kitchen and try to help. I work quicker by myself.”
    While her hostess banged pans around, Brandy peered at black and white family photographs on the mantle—Alma May as a child