The Good Neighbor. Sharon Mignerey
“Do you know Mrs. Russell well?” Wade asked.
Megan met his gaze head-on, his dark brown eyes drawing her in. She imagined telling him all her secrets. She shook her head. Though it would be a relief to tell someone, sharing with a cop, especially now, would come under the heading of stupid.
“She’s one of my best friends,” Megan said. She wished she knew what he was thinking. “I didn’t know her grandson very well at all, though. He’s been back in town only a couple of weeks.”
“But that isn’t what you want to tell me.”
Megan bowed her head, searching for the right words, knowing there wasn’t anything except the bald truth. Finally she shook her head.
“You’re going to think I killed him.”
“Did you?” Such a calm question, those dark eyes still drawing her in.
“No.” She swallowed. “But I told him that his grandmother would be better off if he was dead.”
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SHARON MIGNEREY
After living most of her life in Colorado, Sharon recently moved to the Texas Gulf coast where she found that southern hospitality lived up to its reputation for being warm and welcoming. She’s always known that she wanted to be a storyteller from the time she learned that spelling words could be turned into stories. Sharon’s first book was published in 1997 after winning RWA’s Golden Heart award in 1995. That same book went on to win the National Readers’ Choice Award. In addition to writing novels, Sharon has had several articles published by The Writer magazine. She says the accolades are wonderful, but the only lasting satisfaction comes from serving the work. When she’s not writing, you can find her happily involved with her critique group, learning how to garden in the Texas heat, or playing with her two dogs.
Sharon loves hearing from readers. She can be reached either through her Web site (www.sharonmignerey.com) or in care of Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
The Good Neighbor
Sharon Mignerey
Seest thou how faith wrought with his works,
and by works was faith made perfect?
—James 2:22
For Daniele Seidner; critique partner, proofreader
and most of all, friend—I would have never made it
through this book without you.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ONE
This was the sort of morning that scrubbed the shadows from Megan Burke’s heart. The sun peeked over Grand Mesa’s ramparts east of town, golden rays spearing between houses and trees, leaves fluttering in the crisp breeze.
Definitely a TGIF kind of day.
Two of the patients on her schedule for today lived out of town, so she was looking forward to a long, beautiful drive through the autumn day under a brilliant turquoise sky.
Automatically giving thanks for the day the Lord had made, Megan locked her front door behind her and skipped down the steps, heading for the driveway, which hugged the boundary line of her small yard.
She set her bag of patient charts in the back seat of her car then went to the gate next to her garage. After she rolled her trash can out to the curb, she went back for the recyclables.
Her neighbor Helen Russell waved to her from her kitchen window where she kept an eye on the comings and goings of the neighborhood. Megan waved back, hoping Helen wasn’t as stressed as she’d been yesterday. As usual, Helen’s cat sat on the windowsill, its gaze fixed unblinkingly on something in one of the trees whose large branches draped over the garage and driveway. Probably the regularly visiting raccoons that Megan had heard pulling over the garbage cans earlier. If they had, there would be a mess to clean up.
Helen disappeared, then opened the back door a second later. “Good morning, sweetie,” she said. Deep smile lines creased the corners of her eyes. “It’s sure a gorgeous morning.” The cat rubbed against her legs, purring loudly.
“It is,” Megan replied, thinking Helen sounded better today. She was glad for that. Her neighbor was the closest thing to family that Megan had, something she hadn’t anticipated finding when she had moved here three years ago.
Helen’s only living relative, her grandson, Robby, had returned to Natchez from Denver three weeks ago after losing his job. He had moved into Helen’s basement bedroom and was trading heavily on his old reputation. He hadn’t lived in Natchez in ten years, but was still regarded as one of the town’s own, a status Megan doubted she’d achieve even if she lived here twenty years. Megan’s concern was that Robby worried Helen with his late-night comings and goings, his loud music and his apparent lack of job prospects.
“How are the heads for our apple dolls looking this morning?” Along with several other people, Megan and Helen had peeled and carved over a hundred apples last night in Helen’s inviting kitchen. To raise funds for the seniors’ center, the dolls were going to be sold at the Apple Festival coming up at the end of the month.
“You should come see,” Helen said with a smile. “Personality is beginning to pop out all over the place.”
“Tonight,” Megan promised, with a glance at her watch.
“Glenna Adams told me you were coming to see her today. She lived across the street, you know, until her husband retired. Poor thing. He died less than a year later,” Helen said. “Does she still live with her daughter out in Granger Gulch?”
“She does.” Megan responded as though this was the first time they’d had this identical conversation. Helen’s lapses of memory had seemed worse over the past month, which had coincided with Robby’s unexpected arrival. “And I’ll be late if I get sidetracked.”
“You don’t need to worry about taking my trash out,” Helen said. “Robby told me he’d do it when he left a little while ago.”
Though Megan knew the trash barrel wasn’t out by the curb, she looked back toward it