Murder on Edisto (The Edisto Island Mysteries) Read Free Page B

strutted behind him as if waltzing into the Ritz Carlton in a white mink wrap, a poodle with its snout high at the end of a jewel-studded leash. “Let’s get you two settled in,” she said.
    The woman disappeared into the master bedroom, still talking. “You haven’t met the neighbor to the left. She’s into yoga, and not just the exercises. Incense, bells, candles, mindless stuff. She’ll try to convert you into a meditating New Age fanatic.”
    Callie stopped outside her childhood room, tuning out her mother. Her favorite quilt rested on her old double bed. She lowered the packing box onto it and sank into the mattress. She ran her palms gently across the stitched image of a gold starfish, her favorite sea creature. Beverly had remembered. This was the comforter pulled out of the closet each time they shifted Chelsea Morning from a rental to their short-term retreat. Bless her mother’s rare journey into sentimentality. Maybe there was hope for her—for them—yet.
    Bending until her cheek touched the ruffled cotton pillow sham, Callie inhaled, taking in the aroma of lilac fabric softener. She ached to crawl under the quilt’s protection—to escape to a time when her life was one amazing ride after another, and her heart wasn’t so bruised.
    Over two years later, and she still couldn’t call herself a widow .
    Beverly labeled Callie’s emotional concerns as spells . Jeb babied her, when it should be the other way around. But deep in the recesses of her soul, her panic attacks and fear-ridden dreams stemmed from the fact she’d always consider the Zubov family a threat to her family’s well-being. Leo had died, but there were dozens of them still breathing. She didn’t know how to get over that.
    Leo had given the order to kill everyone in her house that night. She was as sure of it as the barnacles clinging to the beach piers. John just happened to be the only one there. Zubov meant to send a strong message.
    She’d gotten the point then, and every day and night since.
    Then the bastard had died before witness protection could whisk him away. Stroke. The Russian mafia martyred him as they did all their dead. The fact that Leo’s obese body and lavish lifestyle exacerbated his demise meant nothing. To his family, the people who cuffed him became the focus for revenge.
    Her mother’s voice lifted in singsong fashion from the other room, her Carolina drawl thick. “Callie? Would you like me to sort your hanging clothes in any order? I have my closet color coordinated, but—”
    “No.” Callie cleared her throat, regretting her harsh reply. “Just hang them. I’ll sort everything later.”
    This room had so many little girl memories. What she’d be when she grew up. How to kiss a boy. When to wear make-up. Crying herself to sleep over acne ruining her life. She smiled.
    Callie dragged herself up and left the bedroom, hefting a box containing framed pictures and her small jewelry collection onto the dresser in the other bedroom. Her parents’ dresser. Hers was in the room with seahorses and starfish, and she bet she’d still find grains of sand in the recesses of the white rattan. After her folks left, she might switch rooms.
    “I’m sorry, dear, but I went ahead and sorted your clothes.” Beverly’s muffled announcement radiated from the closet. “I think you’ll like what I’ve done.”
    Callie shook her head at the woman’s remarkable gift to turn a deaf ear. Yeah. She would definitely switch rooms.
    Callie lifted a family picture of Jeb, John, and herself on Jeb’s fourteenth birthday, spent on a Boston shore, tiny Bonnie in her arms. Callie brushed her finger across the glass. “I only intended to visit Edisto for the summer, you know.”
    Beverly ventured out of the closet. “Did I hear you right, dear?” She spread her arms wide. “We just gave you all this, so I—”
    “Don’t get it.” Callie set down the picture and faced her mother. “You’ve never gotten it.” A tear