Anne George

Murder Carries a Torch

A Southern Sisters Mystery

To Irene Hendricks and Jake Reiss,
the best friends that any writer could ever have.

Contents

Chapter One

“I’m telling you, Patricia Anne. Fred kissing the ground like…

Chapter Two

When I turned off the computer, I realized I was…

Chapter Three

Luke fell asleep on my guest room bed as soon…

Chapter Four

As I turned off the computer, I heard the toilet…

Chapter Five

I’m not sure how long I wandered the aisles of…

Chapter Six

Any news? I turned off the computer. Maybe later in…

Chapter Seven

“Do what?”

Chapter Eight

Henry Lamont is one of the special people in my…

Chapter Nine

“Mrs. Hollowell?”

Chapter Ten

Area code 206. The first thing I did when I…

Chapter Eleven

At the age of thirty-nine, Richard Nelson, Luke and Virginia’s…

Chapter Twelve

“Thomas Benson? Sure I know him. He owns the feed…

Chapter Thirteen

Betsy Mahall had given me directions to her house. Turn…

Chapter Fourteen

An hour later, the four of us, Richard, Luke, Mary…

Chapter Fifteen

Mary Alice was unusually quiet on the way home. I…

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table…

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning was what Mama always called a thin…

Chapter Eighteen

“So y’all are handlers. You told me the other day…

Chapter Nineteen

The back door slammed and Sister called, “Mouse?”

Chapter Twenty

The soup was delicious. We topped it off with some…

Chapter Twenty-One

“Damn, damn, damn,” Sister said in my ear while I…

About the Author

Praise

Other Books by Anne George

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Chapter
One

“I’m telling you, Patricia Anne. Fred kissing the ground like he did was a little too much. Embarrassing.”

“He slipped.”

“Slipped, my foot. The man was on his hands and knees patting the concrete, saying, ‘Thank God.’ It’s a wonder everybody didn’t fall over him.”

I glanced around at my sister, Mary Alice, who was standing at my utility room door watching me put clothes in the washing machine. She had on a gray pants suit with a cream-colored turtleneck sweater and had already informed me that she was on her way to a luncheon.

I was one of the ones who had nearly fallen over my husband Fred at the airport, but I still felt the need to defend him.

“He hates to fly.”

“Well, I figured that out for myself about an hour out of Birmingham. Every time I spoke to him he growled. Did you hear those noises? Pure growls. And he didn’t even chew the peanuts. He trashed them.” Mary Alice chomped her teeth together. “Like that. Thank God I wasn’t sitting next to him on the Concorde. You’ve earned your place in heaven living with that man for forty years.” She paused. “Why are you spraying Windex around that shirt-sleeve cuff?”