“Well, whatever he was doing, it wasn’t with Misty.”

“Of course not. Misty is young and pretty and too smart to fall for someone like Bill.” Libba led me to the table and pushed me onto a chair. “So Buffy snuck around after Bill, saw the killer, then what? Why didn’t she say something yesterday? She could have told you. Told Anarchy.”

“I don’t know.”

She joined me at the table. “This weekend would have been fun if Sumner and Graham hadn’t come. The man made enemies like Carter makes little liver pills.”

“I haven’t heard that expression in ages.”

“My mother used to say it. Whoever Carter was, he made tons of pills.”

“What are liver pills?”

“Laxatives.”

“Why would anyone take a laxative for their liver?”

“Don’t ask me.” She frowned. “We digress. What happens to the investigation with Anarchy in the hospital? Is the cute deputy in charge?”

“Deputy Harden?”

“Tall, tan, shoulders for miles, and a mop of brown hair?”

“That’s him. With two murders, and Anarchy in the hospital, the sheriff ought to take charge. In the meantime, Anarchy wants me to observe everyone.”

“Is that safe?”

“He wouldn’t knowingly put me in danger.”

“Hmph. Two people are dead.” She reached across the table and clasped my hand. “And you have a way of finding trouble.”

She was wrong. Trouble found me.

Chapter Thirteen

“Would you care for a mimosa?” The server held an array of drinks on a tray covered by a red bandana.

“No, thank you,” I replied. Today was not a Champagne kind of day.

“A bloody Mary?”

I shook my head, but Libba picked up a glass and stirred its contents with the celery stalk.

We were gathered beneath the gazebo. Well, most of us. Liz and Willa stood in the corner and talked in hushed tones. Tommy sat at the picnic table with his hand over his eyes. Perry, Thatch, and Fred formed a tight circle nearby. Merit, Charlie, and Mel were missing. I assumed Sumner and Bill weren’t coming.

“Is Charlie still fishing?”

“He’s taking a shower.”

“You didn’t wait for him?”

“I wanted a drink.” She eyed the picnic table, which was covered in a yellow cloth sprinkled with daisies. “Set for thirteen. Isn’t that supposed to be unlucky?”

“Really? You’re going there?”

Liz approached us with her hands clasped together. Deep wrinkles cut into her forehead, and she looked decidedly pale. “Good morning.”

“Lizzie, are you okay?”

She ran her hand across her face. “Is it true about Buffy?”

“What did you hear?”

“That she's dead.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “That she was murdered.”

I nodded. “It’s true.”

“And Anarchy? What happened to him?

“He’s in the hospital. A snake bite.”