Scene of the Crime: Killer Cove

He stood at the foot of the casket, his brain whirling with memories of his mother. She had been the one who had pushed him after high school to drive back and forth to the bigger city of Hattiesburg to attend college, where he’d received a business degree by the time he was twenty-one.

She’d then encouraged him to open Bo’s Place, her and his dad fronting him the money to begin the successful venture. One of his proudest days had been when he’d been able to pay them back every cent of their seed money.

“So, I figured I hadn’t seen the last of you.” The familiar deep voice coming from behind him tensed every one of Bo’s muscles.

He turned to see Sheriff Trey Walker and his deputy, Ray McClure. Both men had been Bo’s biggest accusers and both had been extremely frustrated that they hadn’t been able to put together a case that would see Bo in prison for Shelly’s murder.

“What are you doing here?” Bo asked, unable to hide a hint of hostility.

“We always come out to pay respects to one of our own,” Trey replied, his green eyes narrowed as he held Bo’s gaze.

“Maybe you should be spending this time looking for the person who really murdered Shelly,” Bo said.

“Already know the answer to that question,” Ray said. Ray was a mean little creep, built like a bulldog and as tenacious as one. He had been one of the loudest mouths proclaiming Bo’s guilt in Shelly’s murder.

Bo was about to tell the two of them to get the hell out of there when he heard a female voice calling his name. He watched as Claire ran toward them. Clad in a pair of slender black slacks and a white blouse, the sight of her immediately diffused some of Bo’s anger.

She reached Bo’s side and looped an elbow with his, as if presenting a united stance. At the same time Jimmy joined them along with Pastor Kimmel, who immediately took Bo’s hand in his.

His faded blue eyes held a kindness that warmed him as much as Claire’s surprising nearness and open support. “It’s a sorrowful day when we have to say a final goodbye to such a good woman.”

Bo nodded, unable to speak around the lump that had risen in his throat. Claire moved closer to his side, as if she sensed the myriad emotions racing through him.

Pastor Kimmel released his hand and stepped back, nodding to the other attendees. “Shall we get started or should we wait to see if others want to come to pay their respects?”

Bo glanced at the road by the cemetery. There wasn’t a car in sight and it was three o’clock. “Let’s get this done,” he said roughly.

So his mother would be sent off to her final destination by a pastor, a loving son, a surrogate son, two cops who thought her son was guilty of murder and a woman Bo hadn’t decided yet if she was completely sane.

* * *

CLAIRE HAD A FEELING few people would be here today. Brenda McBride had become a semi-shut-in after Bo left town. She and Jimmy showed up every Sunday morning for church, but other than that she was rarely seen out and about.

The service was short yet emotional, and Bo’s face and body radiated a soul-deep sorrow that Claire felt inside her heart. She didn’t know what it was like to have a loving, caring mother, nor did she know much about having a decent father, but that didn’t stop her from imagining the depth of Bo’s loss. She’d felt the same way when Shelly had been murdered, that something precious and beloved had been stolen away from Bo.

When the service was finished, Bo looked hollow-eyed and lost. His jaw clenched as Trey and Ray approached him. “You planning on staying in town?” Trey asked.

“Why? Do you intend to put up posters of my face to warn young women?” Bo retorted. He drew a deep, weary sigh. “Don’t worry, I just have a few things to clear up and I should be gone by the weekend.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Ray said.

Claire saw every muscle in Bo tense as a red flush rose up his neck. “Come on, Bo. I’m taking you home with me,” she said. Bo looked at her in surprise. “Jimmy, I’ll bring him home later this evening.”

She grabbed him by the hand and physically pulled him away from both the lawmen and his friend. He balked for only a moment and then went willingly with her.

They didn’t speak as they walked through the cemetery and to her compact car parked in the lot. She got behind the wheel as Bo folded his long legs into the passenger side.

“You have a car,” he said, stating the obvious.

Claire started the engine. “My usual mode of transportation around town is my bicycle, but I get the car out for special occasions and when the weather isn’t conducive to riding or walking.”

She felt his gaze on her. “Thank you for showing up today,” he said. “And for stepping in before I punched Ray in his face.”

“I figured you could use a stiff drink rather than a night in the jail,” she replied. “Besides, Ray McClure isn’t worth the effort of an uppercut. He’s a weasel who likes to chase anything in a skirt and hand out tickets for looking at him cross-eyed.”

“He was one of the loudest voices screaming my guilt all over town before I left,” Bo said. Once again she felt his gaze on her, warm and intense. “What am I doing in your car going to your home?”

She flashed him a quick glance and then focused back on the outer road as they rounded the tip of the lagoon. “I figure within an hour or so Jimmy will be leaving to go to work, which means you’ll probably be holed up in your house all alone, and nobody should drink alone.”

“What makes you think I’m going to drink?”

“Because I would if I were in your shoes. You just buried your mother. I don’t think you need to be by yourself right now.”

“You’re kind of a pushy woman,” he replied lightly.

A small laugh released from her. “I’m sure I’ve been called worse. I hope you’re a gin-and-tonic kind of man because that’s what I’ve got at the house.”

“Anything is fine,” he replied, his voice suddenly weary.

She pulled up in front of her house in the driveway that just barely held the length of her car. “Home, sweet home.” She unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car at the same time as Bo.

“Nice,” he said. “I don’t remember this place looking like this. You must have put a lot of work into it.”

She was acutely aware of his presence just behind her as she walked up the porch and unlocked the door. The hot, sultry air intensified the scent of him...a fragrance of shaving cream and pleasant woodsy cologne. “It took me a full year to get rid of what once stood here and make this a real home.”

“Looks like you have a gift.”

She turned and looked where he pointed to the edge of the porch, where a vase of flowers sat on a folded note. A wave of irritation swept through her. If this was some sort of a charming courtship game it had gone on long enough.

She grabbed the vase and note and then ushered Bo inside. “Apparently I’ve picked up a secret admirer.” She set the vase in the center of the table next to the one from the day before. “Take off your jacket and get comfortable.” She gestured toward the beige sofa with bright green and turquoise throw pillows.

He took off his jacket and slung it across the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Do you have any idea who your secret admirer might be?” he asked.

She pulled from a cabinet a large bottle of tonic and a bottle of gin, and then opened the refrigerator door to grab a couple of limes. “Not a clue,” she replied. “And honestly I think the whole thing is ridiculous. If some man is interested in me, then he should just step up to the plate and tell me. Lime?”

“Sounds good.”

As she cut up the limes he wandered the space, checking out the books on her turquoise-painted ladder bookcase, the green and blue knickknacks that she’d found to give the house a sense of home. He finally landed on the sofa. After handing him his drink, she sat on the opposite side of the sofa with her own.

“Why are you being so nice to me? Aren’t you afraid somebody in town will see you with me and you’ll be shunned?” he asked, his midnight-blue eyes holding her gaze.

She took a sip of the biting yet refreshing drink and then placed it on the coffee table in front of them. “I don’t pay much attention to what people think about me. I’m often on the unpopular side of an issue.” She offered him a sympathetic gaze. “You want to talk about your mother?”

He settled back against the cushion and took a long, deep drink from his glass. “Not really. I’ve had days to do nothing but think about her and now I’d much rather talk about you.”

“Me? Trust me, there isn’t that much to talk about. I was born and raised here. My mother ran off when I was six and I was left with a neglectful alcoholic father in a shanty that threatened to fall down whenever the wind blew. I went to college on a full scholarship and got my teaching degree. When I returned here my father had disappeared and I haven’t seen him since. And that’s my story.”

She leaned forward and grabbed her glass and then took another sip. She’d made her drink light on gin and heavy on tonic and had made Bo’s drink heavy on gin and light on tonic.