Drop Dead Sexy(65)

I waved my hands furiously back and forth. “No, no. We don’t need anything like that.”

With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Catcher said, “I haven’t tried to knock her up yet, but I’ll keep that in mind should my swimmers be slow starters.”

When I turned openmouthed to him, he winked at me before reaching in his suit for his badge. “I’m Holden Mains with the GBI.”

Jewell’s smile slid from her face as her brown eyes widened. “Is my mother in some kind of trouble?”

Catcher shook his head. “No. We believe she might have some information regarding a homicide we’re investigating. You don’t happen to know anyone by the name of Randy Dickinson do you?”

“No. I don’t. But my mother has had so many clients over the years that it’s hard to keep up.” Jewell crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s probably best if you go up there and talk to her yourself.”

“Thank you. We will,” I said.

Taking out his notepad, Catcher asked, “Do you have an address for her?”

Jewell laughed. “Where you’re going isn’t going to be on a GPS. The best way I can tell you is go five miles past Turniptown church. Then turn right by a mailbox with a peacock on it. Her house is up the hill.”

Catcher furiously scribbled on his pad. “Five miles, mailbox with a peacock.”

“That’s right.”

“Once again, thank you for the help.”

“You’re welcome.”

We started for the door when Jewell said, “Be careful. Mama likes to answer the door with a shotgun.”

While I gasped in alarm, Catcher merely chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”



Ten minutes and twenty expletives from Catcher about how his car was getting banged to hell by the gravel roads later, we made a turn by a faded peacock mailbox that read THORNHILL. “How the hell does anyone live up here, least of all an old lady?” I questioned as the convertible bumped and hopped along the gravel drive up a massive embankment to the Granny Witch’s house.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Catcher replied, as he had to put the convertible in low gear to make it up the hill.

We finally pulled up in front of an ancient-looking log cabin. It was the kind that you imagined Abe Lincoln living in back in the day or something like off Little House on the Prairie.

When we got out of the car, two, long-eared hound dogs came barreling out from under the porch. They started bellowing at us in unison. Since I really didn’t want my life to end by being mauled by two hound dogs, I reached back into the car for the leftovers from lunch.

“Not my ribs!” Catcher hissed. Ignoring him, I tossed ribs and fries at the dogs. They dove at them and immediately began to devour them. With the dogs occupied, we started across the yard to the porch.

“I can’t believe you just gave twenty dollar’s worth of ribs to two backwoods hound dogs,” Catcher grumbled.

“It was either the barbecue ribs or our ribs. Besides, you can stop by for more on the way home.”

“Fine.”

The front of the cabin was lined with flowerbeds and rose bushes that would be beautiful in the springtime. After climbing the steps, we walked tentatively across the incredibly worn floorboards.

As I rapped my knuckles on the gnarled wooden door, Catcher palmed his gun in his holster. After all, we didn’t know what might be lurking behind the door. A few moments passed, so I knocked again.

“What do you want?” a creaky, somewhat muffled voice questioned.

“Excuse the interruption, ma’am, but we need to speak to the Granny Witch.”

There was a flurry of locks being turned, and then the door swung open. A diminutive woman with a face lined like a road map stood before us in a faded calico housedress. Just like her daughter had said, she had a shotgun in the crook of her arm. With her size, I couldn’t help wondering how she possibly had the strength to lift it.

She narrowed her eyes at us. “I assumed you was looking for the Granny Witch. I sure as hell knowed you wasn’t a bunch of Jehovah’s Witnesses comin’ out chere to see if I knew God. I don’t believe Avon has ever called on me either.” She tilted her head at us. “The question is what do you want with me?”

Once again, Catcher took out his badge. But before he could explain what we were doing there, the little woman shook her head. “Randy’s dead.”

Catcher and I both stared at her openmouthed. “How did you—” Catcher started to question.

She waved a weathered hand dismissively. “Saw it in the tea leaves this mornin’.”

My brows furrowed in confusion. “The tea leaves?”

The Granny Witch pursed her lips at me. “Yeah, girlie, ain’t ya never heared of readin’ tea leaves?”

Since my only reference of the reading of tea leaves was in Harry Potter and the Prince of Azkaban, I decided it was best just to say no. With a grunt, the Granny Witch grabbed the sleeve of Catcher’s shirt and dragged him inside. “Yer lettin’ out all the heat.”

“My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t want to be rude since we hadn’t been invited in,” Catcher explained as I followed the two of them in. I quickly shut the door behind me before the Granny Witch could yell at me…or put the evil eye on me.