Lowcountry Bombshell (A Liz Talbot Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

a label. “In case you didn’t hear, I have a new client who might be murdered in ten days.”
    “A lot of people thought Marilyn Monroe was murdered,” Colleen said.
    “Yeah,” I said slowly. “And a lot of people think the British royal family is a cell of shape-shifting, reptilian aliens from the constellation Draco.”
    “True,” Colleen allowed.
    “On the outside chance what happened to her is relevant, could you talk to her. I mean, since you have time on your hands and all?”
    “We’ve covered this,” she said. “Calista isn’t part of my assignment.” Colleen was tight-lipped about most things related to eternity, claimed it was part of the rules.
    I looked up from Calista’s contract. “So you say.”
    “Whether she died accidentally, was murdered, or,” Colleen sighed, “committed suicide, she died before her time. She’s probably on assignment somewhere herself.”
    Colleen had committed suicide when we were seventeen. She’d tried to make it look like an accident, but everyone who cared to face the truth knew that she knew better than to drink tequila and go for a dip in Breach Inlet.
    “Better let Rhett out of your bedroom. He was chewing on one of your Kate Spade sandals when I went to quiet him down.”
    “You went to quiet him down? Can Rhett see you? Not my blue sandals.” I jumped up and ran for the stairs.
    “See you later,” Colleen said. And she was gone.
    THREE

    The doorbells jangled a welcome as I stepped inside the Cracked Pot. Somehow, Moon Unit had achieved a light and airy, yet cozy ambiance. The mix of an old-fashioned counter lined with swivel stools, an eclectic group of tables, tropical plants, and a wall-sized collage of island residents provided the perfect setting for one of our town’s primary hangouts.
    I scanned the dining room for my brother and found him in the back booth.
    He looked up from his cheeseburger as I approached. I slid in across from him and waved to Moon Unit.
    Blake was the stuff single women closing in on thirty dream about. Early thirties, fit, tanned, never been married, and has a job. His medium-brown hair was perhaps a little longer than your typical law enforcement style. Like Merry and me, he had inherited our mamma’s cobalt blue eyes.
    “What are you into today,” he asked in his big brother voice. Blake was only one year older than me, but he subscribed to the notion that this gave him sacred rights and responsibilities concerning my welfare. It was sweet, on days when it didn’t drive me crazy.
    “Not much.”
    Sometimes Blake was happier not knowing the details of my cases. To say that he was not pleased with my career choice would be an understatement. He didn’t like it one bit when I lived in Greenville. His angst had doubled since I moved home. He didn’t care for having a private investigator—any private investigator—on his island. We’d worked out an arrangement. If I ran across something he needed to know about, I found a way to tell him without violating my client’s trust. If I needed backup, I called him, although sometimes not soon enough to suit him. Because our small town’s law enforcement budget did not allow him to have dedicated detectives, if he needed one, which was rare, he would bring me in as a consultant. So far, so good.
    “You finish that S.O.B. divorce case?”
    I nodded. “Thank heavens.” Clients from old-money Charleston, many of whom lived south of Broad Street—S.O.B.—on the peninsula, made up most of my growing client base. They liked hiring an investigator who was once removed from their world, but spoke the same language and knew the unwritten rules.
    Moon Unit arrived with my iced tea. “Hey Sweetie.” Moon Unit Glendawn and I had been friends forever. We graduated from Stella Maris High the same year. Her wavy, honey-colored hair was pulled high into a ponytail, her hazel eyes warm.
    “Hey Moon.”
    “What chu want for lunch?” She didn’t bother with a menu. I knew what