A Sweet Treat

A Sweet Treat

Chapter 6

Miss Georgia baked that tried and true picker-upper that always made folks feel just a bit better, a coconut cream pie. It was still warm from the oven when she placed it in a basket and took it two doors down to Roe Williams’ house. As she passed Abigail’s home, her friend waved at her.

     “Yoo hoo, Georgia! On your way to Roe’s? Wait. I’ll go with you.”

     A few minutes later, the three friends sat at the small table in Roe’s sparkling clean kitchen. Roe had provided three plates and three cups of coffee, after thanking Miss Georgia profusely for her thoughtfulness.

     “Best pie I’ve ever eaten,” he said, patting his round stomach. “Who wouldn’t feel more hopeful after such a sweet feast?”

     Miss Georgia thought she detected a hurtful look lurking beneath the twinkle in his eyes.

     Never one to beat about the bush, she said, “Monroe, I’m so sorry for such a pitiful welcome home. I don’t know what’s gotten into people that some, not all, mind you, but some would even doubt your honesty?”

     Monroe shook his head. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find old Thurston is still as alive as ever over at the bank and none of this has ever happened. I guess I’ll just have to let our young sheriff take care of things and stop worrying.”

     Miss Georgia snorted. “He means well, but I don’t think we should hold our breaths until Lathe Caldwell reaches the correct conclusion. Abigail tells me you think you see some strange goings on over at the cemetery at night.”

     Roe shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining things. Anyhow, what would that have to do with Thurston getting shot?”

     “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Miss Georgia said. “But, we can set about finding out.”

     Abigail gasped. “What? And just how are we going to do that?”

     “We’ll simply go over to the cemetery before dark, find a hiding place, and see what’s going on.”

     Abigail choked on her bite of pie. “My goodness, Georgia! The cemetery is no place to be prowling around after dark.”

     “We’re not going to be prowling,” Miss Georgia said. “We’re going to watch and see why anybody would want to poke around among a bunch of headstones after the sun goes down. Maybe it hasn’t a thing in the world to do with Thurston Cubbins’ death or bank robbery, and then again, maybe it does. If nobody else wants to go with me, all right, but come tonight, I’m going to go over there.”

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