Murder on Edisto (The Edisto Island Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A

kitchen, drawing them behind her into the living room. “I can throw together a snack for us to eat on the porch.”
    Lawton winked at Callie and pushed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Bev, sweetheart, don’t I have some sort of breakfast meeting tomorrow morning?”
    “Yes,” Beverly said, peeking around the refrigerator door. “You’re due at the Rotarians’ breakfast at seven.”
    Lawton ran an arm around Jeb’s shoulders. Both men were six foot, the long noses and chins obviously alike. He squeezed Jeb once then faked a punch to the boy’s gut, raising a flinch then a grin from Jeb. “I haven’t even thought about preparing what to say,” Lawton said.
    Beverly appeared with cheese and condiments. “You don’t ever prepare.”
    Lawton walked to the kitchen, lifted the items from his wife, and returned them to the refrigerator. “Let’s go.”
    “But—”
    He took her arm gently. “They need time to themselves.”
    As her mother walked off to get her purse, Callie ran to her father and threw her arms around his neck. “Thanks for the house, Daddy,” she whispered.
    “You’re welcome,” he whispered back. “I’ll tell your mother.”
    TENSION DRAINED away as Callie’s gaze followed her parents’ white BMW on its way toward Highway 174, back to their Middleton kingdom. From his duffel bag in the hallway, Jeb dug out swimming shorts, flip-flops, and sunglasses before bolting toward the door.
    “Got your phone?” Callie hollered.
    He frowned. “It’ll get messed up or stolen.”
    Her concern escalated as he touched the doorknob. She had to adjust to him being out of reach. The ocean was just down the street. She walked over and caressed his warm cheek. “Okay, but try not to stay too long. You’ll burn.”
    His mouth twisted into a familiar half-grin that made her heart leap at the memory of John. She nudged a blond lock back from his face. “Go. Have fun.”
    As the latch caught behind him, Callie inhaled, then glanced around, absorbing what was now hers. Her fingers rubbed a knotted piece of driftwood on the bookcase. The cliché coastal decorations had to go. She would repaint the canary yellow walls to a neutral and turn the place into a real residence.
    She returned to the bedroom to unpack. The nearest box stood out from all the others with no label. After ripping the tape free, the flaps sprung up. Bonnie’s white blanket ballooned out, the one from her car seat, the only item of hers unclaimed by fire and smoke.
    As her hands entwined in the cotton, sobs crept up, then unable to fight them back, she let them engulf her. Her body shook as she hugged the blanket, rocking, rocking. That tiny, sweet-smelling baby girl. How often did she have to relive the morning she’d found Bonnie cold and oh so blue?
    Her heart hit her chest and scared her. The first sign. Spinning around, she fumbled for her water bottle on the nightstand, missing it twice before she snared it and darted to the front porch. She rested elbows on the railing, head drooped, forehead almost touching the wood, breathing deep as she surveyed the crushed-shell drive. A renter’s golf cart puttered alongside Jungle Road fifty feet away.
    Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
    She forced in deep breaths again and again to lower her racing pulse.
    The house had turned claustrophobic without warning. Damn it. Sucking in, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. She listened to her breathing and her pulse, controlling them both by sheer act of will. A sip of water helped. She opened her eyes, assimilating the surf noise, the gulls overhead. She eased back into the world.
    And now she was tired.
    A gull squawked and landed on the step ten feet away, dropped a sticky white present for her and lifted off again. She smiled. That sort of crap was doable. Lifting elbows, she brushed off the grains of sand.
    She had tossed the antidepressants back in Boston, not wanting a crutch. Then during one particularly needy night, she’d