Strung Out to Die Read Online Free Page A

limits. Jim had made that crystal clear with the handshake agreement we made about the living arrangements. A handshake was taken just as seriously as a written contract in Swanee. Besides, Ginger and I were best friends. If you can’t trust your best friend or her husband, whom can you trust?
    Then again, I was beginning to wonder about the answer to that question.
    “Hi, Holly.” Jim and his ten-gallon cowboy hat appeared out of nowhere in the barn doorway. His eyes were red around the lids. He took his hat off and whacked it up against his legs. Dirt came flying out of it. “I had to get away.”
    A cloud of dust following him as he shuffled closer.
    Jim always wore his jeans all the way up to his navel. These jeans weren’t just any blue, either. They were the bluest blue you’ve ever seen; indigo in fact. His big money-sign belt buckle was always polished and front and center, keeping his neatly pressed collared shirt tucked in tight.
    The color of the shirt changed daily, but you could bet he’d always be in an identical pair of blue jeans, with the same belt buckle and cowboy boots day in and day out.
    But not today.
    His slicked back, coal black hair flopped to the side. And his shirt was wrinkled and untucked, and those jeans of his were a little on the gray side.
    “I’m sorry about Doug.” I wasn’t sure what to say, since he was found dead in my shop. “I don’t know why he was at The Beaded Dragonfly.”
    I did wonder if Ginger suspected I had something to do with Doug’s murder and hoped Jim would say something–anything–to make me feel better.
    “Do you have anything you want to tell me, Holly?” he asked, staring at me in a peculiar, almost accusing way. “Ginger and I can’t figure out why he’d be there either.”
    “I have no clue.” I shook my head. It was a question I’d asked myself over and over again the past few hours. The sick feeling had now settled to scared stiff. Obviously, they considered me a suspect. But why? What would my motive for strangling Doug Sloan be? Clearing my throat, I asked, “How is Ginger?”
    “Distraught.” Sadness was all over his face. “Ginger and I want answers.”
    He turned to go back to the barn, but stopped. “I wish you would’ve installed those cameras,” he muttered as he walked back to shut the barn door and then jumped into his truck.
    He hadn’t made me feel better at all.
    As I watched him drive away, I wished he’d talked me into those security cameras too.
    When I first opened The Beaded Dragonfly, Jim’s security business, Rush’s Protective Services, was flourishing. He’d even offered me a deal.
    “I’ll give you three cameras for the price of two.” I recalled him holding up the cameras that were no bigger than the palm of my hand, but the price tag was huge.
    Eight thousand dollars was just more than I had to invest.
    “I can’t afford my own house, much less eight thousand dollars worth of camera equipment.” I’d reminded him of our handshake agreement.
    “What about the alimony money?” he’d asked.
    “What alimony?” I laughed. “Doug gets all the jobs around here.”
    That was the end of that conversation. Eight thousand dollars sounded like a great investment now.
    I turned around and looked at the gray clapboard, three-room cottage I called home. It was all I needed after my divorce. Three rooms were big enough for all the stuff I had collected over the years. The best part wasn’t the wall of windows that overlooked the lake or the fact that Ginger pays someone to squeegee them, but the furniture.
    It came fully furnished and the only ‘ Unders ’ in the entire place were beneath the futon and the claw-foot tub.
    The cabinets in the kitchen went all the way down to the floor. There wasn’t a kitchen table to worry about sweeping under, no book shelves to dust under, no Unders whatsoever.
    There were built-in bookshelves in the family room. The bedroom was plain and simple with just a box spring