Lowcountry Bombshell (A Liz Talbot Mystery) Read Online Free

and sighed. “I’ve paid a series of attorneys a lot of money to keep this quiet. I need to know that you’ll be discreet.”
    “I can’t conceal a crime, or evidence relevant to a crime.”
    “I haven’t broken any laws. And if there’s an investigation, it will be into my death, in which case you can tell anything you need to tell from the rooftop.”
    “Okay then, you have my word.”
    “The night Joe died, he didn’t know it, but he’d already won the biggest single-winner Powerball jackpot in history. Seven hundred million dollars.”
    I’d just taken a big gulp of tea and narrowly avoided snorting it through my nose. As it was, some of it went down the wrong way and sent me into a coughing fit. Calista jumped up and patted me on the back.
    “That kind of money does tend to choke people up,” she said.
    I wheezed and sputtered for a minute and finally regained my composure. “So, he won with a ticket he’d already bought?”
    “The last draw on the last ticket he bought. He was killed on a Thursday, but he’d won the drawing the night before. He never even checked the numbers. Joey, he wasn’t thinking, ‘Maybe I won.’ He was thinking, ‘I need to buy a new ticket.’ It was just something he did. He bet on us, you know?”
    “You’re afraid someone will kill you for the money?”
    She sat back down on the sofa and crossed her legs. “I doubt that will be it,” she said. “The only people who know about the money have nothing to gain from my death. I’ve seen to that.”
    “Who are your heirs?” I asked.
    “I’ve created a foundation and several trusts that will continue to support the charities I contribute to now. A homeless shelter, an orphanage, a children’s hospital, mental illness research, several others, but no one benefits personally.”
    I combed my fingers through my hair just above my temples and stopped when my fingers touched in the middle. I held my head for a moment. “If not for the money, then why would someone want to kill you?”
    “I’m sure I don’t know,” she said. “But unless you stop them, someone will kill me, and they’ll do a fine job of making it look like suicide.”
    “And you know this…how?”
    She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, enunciating precisely, as if I were dimwitted. “Because that’s what happened to her. I’m thirty-six years old. Today is July twenty-fifth. Unless you help me, I will be dead in ten days, on August fourth.”
    “I see,” I said, but I so did not see at all.
    From the other side of the room came Colleen’s laugh. It’s a distinctive laugh. I’ve often told her it reminded me of a donkey crossbred with a pig: braay, snort-snort, braay .  She bray-snorted exuberantly from her perch on my desk. As always, my friend looked fantastic for someone who’d been dead fourteen years. Her pale skin was luminous, her long, curly red hair molten. Big green eyes sparkled with mischief. Thankfully, no one could hear her except me. But she was a distraction I did not need just then. I sent her my most threatening scowl.
    Calista drew back with a stunned look on her face.
    I faked a sneeze. “Excuse me.”
    “Take the case, already,” Colleen said. “It’s not like you’re overbooked right now.”
    Colleen often offered me unsolicited advice. She professes to be a guardian spirit, as opposed to a guardian angel. According to Colleen, guardian spirits are sent back to earth with smaller-scale missions. Her mission is to guard Stella Maris. I’m her sole human contact. Sometimes she needs my help. Sometimes she thinks I need hers. The jury’s still out.
    I squared my shoulders, smiled at Calista, and commenced asking the same questions I asked every new client, even the ones who appeared completely stable.
    “Calista,” I said. “Are you taking any illegal drugs?”
    She drew her hand to her face as if I’d slapped her. “That’s the last thing I would ever, ever do. And just so you know, I don’t drink