***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   

After finding the dead body of the town pervert, all Miranda wants is for life to go back to normal.  But, we all know that's not going to happen. ***

 

 

 

 

 

After eating, Aaron suggests we play cards.  "Texas Hold 'Em?"

 

Waylon shrugs and looks at me.  

 

I have no idea how to play it.  I've never played poker before, and after the events of this morning, I'm not in the mood to learn.  "Fish.  Let's play fish.  I used to love playing Fish when I was younger."

 

Waylon and Aaron both laugh.  "Fish it is," Aaron sighs.

 

"You can only lay down a set of four.  Makes it tougher to win."

 

"What about strip poker?" Waylon says, winking at Aaron like it's the cleverest thing ever.

 

I take the deck and shuffle.  "No thank you, boys.  I've seen enough of the two of you to know I don't want to win that game."

 

"That's a bit harsh," Aaron says.  "You deal, meanness."

 

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."  I grin at Waylon.

 

"Yeah, right you didn't."

 

The game lasts an hour.  We're having fun, laughing, and most importantly, not talking about Haynes Pond or Ed Preston.  Then the phone rings.  Nobody calls me on a Saturday night at nine p.m.  I lay my cards face down on the kitchen table and answer the phone on the third ring.

 

"Hello."

 

"Is this Miranda Buckley?"

 

"Who wants to know?"

 

"This is Colleen Weaver with the Patterson Gazette.  I would like to ask you a few questions."

 

I roll my eyes.  If this chick thinks I'm going to answer a bunch of questions about the upcoming election, she's delusional.

 

"Look, Colleen, was it?  I'm not going to discuss politics or referendums on a Saturday night.  Not with you or anyone."

 

"Ms. Buckley, I'm calling to ask you about the body you found today."

 

I close my eyes.  How did she get my number and how does she know I'm the one who found him? "I'm not going to talk to you or anybody.  Jesus, what gives you the right to call my home to pump me for information."

 

She doesn't seem flustered by my anger.  Stays crisp and professional.  "I'm doing my job, Ms. Buckley.  I help the people of Patterson County stay informed.  This is a homicide.  If you want to tell your side of things, nows your chance."

 

"My side?"

 

"Yes, ma'am.  It was discovered that Mr. Preston tried to press charges against you earlier this week.   For assault?  You were certainly aware of that.  Weren't you? "

 

"I'm going to hang up, Ms. Weaver. "

 

"Of course.  But if you change your mind, you can call the Gazette to talk."

 

I put the phone down.   Both Waylon and Aaron are staring at me.

 

"It was a reporter from the Gazette.  Wants to give me the opportunity to tell my side of the story.  I flipped a damn couch over and find a corpse.  End of story."  I say.  "She knows I tossed him out of the store.  She knows he tried to press charges against me. How?  How the hell does she know that?"

 

Aaron shrugs.  "It's public record.  Reporters do their research."

 

"Are you gonna talk to her?"  Waylon asks.  

 

"No.  God, I just want to forget today." 

 

Aaron pushes his chair back and stands up.  "We can finish this game another day.  I think I'm going to go home and drink until I pass out.  See y'all tomorrow. "

 

I chew my thumbnail.  It's a stupid nervous habit that I have.  As enticing as having a drink right now sounds, it won't solve anything.

 

Waylon gathers the discarded cards and puts them back in the box.  "Let's watch a movie,"  he says.  

 

When I nod my head in agreement, he does something remarkable.   He holds out his hand and leads me over to the couch.  "I'll be right back," he says.  

 

I watch as he grabs a pack of popcorn out of the cabinet and places it in the microwave. Despite how the day started, this is nice.

 

 

                ****************

 

There are no calls on Sunday.  Waylon and I watch movies all day.  I order pizza and we make cookies.  It may sound lame to some, but I think it's what we both need.  And I'm guessing Aaron must have followed through on his plan to drink until he passed out because I don't see him come out of his palatial trailer until mid-afternoon.  He sits on his porch with dark sunglasses on.

 

Monday morning, I drive Waylon to school.  I figure he needs the extra thirty minutes of sleep.  And I need the company.

 

As I pull into the parking lot of The Little Eagle, I see a lot of cars.  Busier than usual, but it is Monday.

 

Rita looks up helplessly when I come in.

 

"What the hell is going on? "

 

She winces.  "Go see Matt.  He's in the office."

 

"What's he doing here?"

 

She looks away. "I called him.  They're here about you.  Everybody knows you found Ed's body.  It's been a nightmare here.  People are so nosy."

 

My stomach feels like it's twisting.  "Is he mad?"

 

"Probably.  But not at you.  He's pissed I called him more than likely."

 

I don't bother to put my vest on.  I get the feeling that he will be sending me home.  I knock on the door then poke my head in as I open it.  "Hey,  I'm sorry about this, Matt."

 

He waves his hand.  "Bunch of fucking busybodies," he mutters.  "I'm gonna send you home, Miranda.  Take a couple of days.  Come back Wednesday.  I'll pay you.  I just can't have this kind of circus here."

 

"I'm sorry.  I get it.  I'll duck out the back."

 

He smiles this half smile.  "Good idea."

 

"Tell Rita I said goodbye.  And, Matt, don't kill her, okay."

 

Without looking up he shrugs.  "No promises, Buckley."

 

I peek out of the office to make sure no one is lurking around then high tail it to the back door.  I step out into the fresh air and pull the door closed behind me.  As I take my first step, I kick something and see it go skidding a few feet in front of me.

 

That now familiar sick feeling washes over me.  There on the gravelly lot is a pair of scissors.  The blades are stained with something dark and rusty.

 

I knock on the door.  When Matt opens the door, I point.  "I think we need to call the sheriff."

 

 

 

To be continued ...