Down Home and Deadly

Congratulations.”
    I nodded. “Thanks.” No matter how overbearing and annoying Lisa had acted, it was hard to enjoy the victory knowing she was sitting in a jail cell.
    “There are a couple of stragglers. Want me to stay around? Or are you going to lock up?”
    “I’ll lock up. I’m not staying too long.”
    Seth and Ricky came by from the showers, gym bags in their hands. “Hey, Jenna. How’s it feel to finally own the place?” Seth asked, his cocky grin firmly in place. I hoped he’d gotten over his misplaced affection for me.
    “Good. Thanks.”
    Ricky nodded. “Congrats on your new venture.”
    “Does this mean you’re going to be too busy for all those questions?” Seth asked.
    Ricky cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “We need to go, man.”
    “Aw, don’t be shy around Jenna. In between her amateur investigating, she’s been real curious about you, too.”
    My face grew hot. Seth and his jealousy. He thought I’d been asking about Ricky because I was interested in him romantically. Amelia was going to kill me. So much for being subtle.
    “I—”
    Ricky flashed me an easy smile and slapped Seth on his shoulder. “Your jealousy is showing, man. But I’m pretty sure she’s taken , and so am I. So let’s get going.”
    Seth followed him out , and I turned to Gail with a grimace. “What is it about men? Once you’re attached, they suddenly find you irresistible.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” she muttered.
    I frowned.
    Her face reddened. “Sorry.”
    “ Marco ?”
    She nodded. “Not that he knows I’m alive. As anything other than a good friend.”
    “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” But he would pretty soon if I had anything to say about it.
    She gave me a wry grin. “Who needs men? I think I’m going to go get some New York Super Fudge Chunk and drown my miseries in ice cream.”
    “Good idea. I’m going to go see if the office looks any different now that it’s really mine.”
    In the office, I glared up at the wall. Lisa had once again replaced my beach scenes with modern art pictures. I sighed. At least I knew where to find them this time. She’d done the same thing when I was away in Branson , and I’d had to search the whole place before I finally found them in the janitor’s closet next to the pool .
    As I jogged down the well-lit, but deserted, hallway, I slipped my cell phone from my pocket and into my hand. The emptiness of the huge building creeped me out. It was the same way when I was at the newspaper office late at night. So many tiny unexplained noises punctuated the quietness.
    When I opened the door to the pool area, shadows from the underwater lights rippled across the surface of the Olympic - size swimming pool. The familiar sound of the pumping system soothed my nerves. Maybe some people would consider that creepy, but my mood lightened , and I slowed to a walk, smiling at the blue octagon of water. This was one place that I didn’t need other people around — this was my safe place. Suddenly , the realization that I actually owned the pool surged through me. I fought the urge to run to the locker room, get into my swimsuit , and dive into the deep end. There’d be time for that after I retrieved my pictures.
    I unlocked the janitor’s closet and pulled the string to turn on the lone lightbulb. Without wasting any time, I squatted down to look behind the shelves. Sure enough , there were my pictures. Same as before. But never again. Unless I decided to retire them and redecorate. And even then, I wouldn’t put them in the chlorine-saturated air of the pool closet, something Lisa had no doubt done on purpose.
    Still squatting, I put my cell phone on the floor behind me and gently slid the wooden frames from their hiding place. A manila envelope tumbled out with them. I propped the pictures against the wall and sank down cross-legged in the open doorway. With Lisa’s penchant for hiding things here, there was no telling what the envelope contained. And with my penchant for being curious, there was no chance I wouldn’t open it.
    When I turned the envelope up, two newspaper clippings fluttered into my lap. I caught the first one and held it up to the light. It was from a Memphis newspaper, The Commercial Appeal .
    Foul Play S uspected in Death of Cop’s Wife , blared the headline. I scanned the article. Judy Richardson had been found dead at the bottom of a stairwell in the apartment building where she and her husband, detective