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eyes
sparkling. “Coroner came, zipped Gemma Burke in his death bag and hauled her away
on a gurney. No pomp. No circumstance. Zip and done.
    “Sheriff Haynes and the deputy got here
when they were wheeling the body out. Been asking questions ever since.” She
nodded to the pandemonium in the foyer.
    “What’s the deputy’s name?” I asked. He
looked about my age, nice looking, but seemed lost in all the commotion. He was
nursing a hand that was bandaged and people kept bumping into it. It was making
him even more agitated.
    “Colin Pritchard,” Miss Vivee said. “Born
and bred here in Yasamee, but he went and did his Peace Officer training up
north.” She glanced over at me. “You’d never know he had any training in
anything.”
    I chuckled. I guess it was pretty obvious
he didn’t know what he was doing.
    “But Lloyd Haynes, the sheriff,” she said
and nodded in his direction. “Ain’t had no training, and probably never been at
the scene of a crime like this before, but he looks pretty darn competent,
don’t he?”
    I nodded. “Look like he’s got a hurt
foot?”
    “Yep,” Miss Vivee said. He and that deputy
of his always out fishing and hunting.” She pointed to the Deputy’s hand. “They
do more damage to themselves than to whatever they’re hunting.”
    I laughed. “And those are the two that’s
licensed to protect around here?”
    “It’s a sad story, I know,” she said. “Anyway.
Sorry you missed it. Bet you would have enjoyed it. Seeing Gemma Burke like
that,” she said and nodded toward the dining hall as if Gemma Burke was still
there. “Face purple, her eyes open and lifeless. A real sight to see.” She
looked at me. “You like dead things, right?”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
    An hour later the chaos hadn’t stopped.
    Miss Vivee and I stayed seated on the
bench and watched as the first murder in Yasamee in the last sixty-five years
was investigated.
    Sheriff Lloyd Haynes and Deputy Colin
Pritchard had spent the morning talking to all the people that had been at the
Maypop when Gemma died. Now the Sheriff was trying to get Renmar’s account of
the events.
    “Oh my,” Renmar said, her tears still
flowing after sixty whole minutes. “I don’t know what to say.” She looked at
Hazel Cobb who was holding on to her, then she lowered her eyes and toyed with
the tissue in her hand. “Gemma came in here every Friday since she got back.
She was such a skinny little thing, all that exercise I guess. I was happy to
feed her.”
    “She loved your bouillabaisse,” Hazel said
and nodded.
    “Yes. She did,” Renmar said and nodded
back.
    Sheriff Haynes pulled his brown,
four-dented brown hat off of his head, and swiped his hand though the tuft of chestnut
hair that fell in his face. Though he seemed hot and frustrated, he kept a cool
temper. He was slightly tanned with dark brown eyes and a square jawline. He
looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, and his tan colored,
short-sleeved uniform hung well over his fit body. But with all the disorder he
was dealing with, it seemed Renmar’s reaction to everything was giving him the
most grief.
    “And-” the Sheriff started to say
something more to her when the deputy came up and interrupted his questioning.
Deputy Pritchard leaned into him and spoke low and close to his ear. When he
had finished speaking to him, the Sheriff said, “Excuse me, Renmar, I’ll be
right back.” He left out the front door following the deputy.
    As soon as he left, Renmar sent Hazel
upstairs for something and then pulled Oliver close to her. They spoke in
hushed, and hurried voices. Oliver puffed hard on his e-cigarette and squinted,
taking in what Renmar was saying. Renmar’s eyes flitted about the room as if
she was ensuring no one was looking. We locked eyes momentarily. Then her eyes
darted from me, to Miss Vivee and back before she turned again to Oliver.
    I turned to Miss Vivee. “What they got
their heads