The Bodyguard's Return. Carla Cassidy

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       Chapter 2

      Savannah awakened with grief pressing thickly against her chest. The early-morning October sunshine drifted through the frilly lace curtains in her bedroom, and all she wanted to do was pull the pillow over her head and forget what had happened the day before.

      Charlie was dead. The thought hit her in the stomach with the force of a blow. Other than Meredith and her landlady, Winnie, Charlie had been the only friend she’d made since coming to town. And now he was gone, dead in a way that made no sense whatsoever.

      She’d never again see that slow, easy grin of his, never hear his acerbic sense of humor or match her wits against his in a game of chess.

      “Charlie,” she whispered, her voice nothing more than a hollow echo of itself.

      She wanted to weep, but she’d spent most of her tears the night before. Besides, crying didn’t change anything and neither did covering her face with a pillow and hiding in bed all day. She owed Charlie more than tears, more than denial.

      She was a reporter, and even though her published work so far was nothing more than a couple of gossip columns and fluff pieces, as Sheriff Ramsey had characterized them, it was time she became an investigative reporter and found out the truth about what had happened to Charlie. She owed the old man that much.

      Galvanized with a new determination, she showered, then dressed in a pair of black pencil-thin slacks and a lightweight lavender sweater. Even though it was only the first week of October, the weather had been unusually cool.

      The scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she stepped out of her room and headed downstairs. No matter what time Savannah got up in the morning, her elderly landlady was always up before her.

      Winnie sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her. She smiled a greeting as Savannah entered the kitchen. “Coffee’s on and the bacon is fried. All you need to tell me is how many eggs you want.”

      “None. I’m not hungry this morning.” Savannah went to the cabinet that held the coffee mugs, then poured herself a cup of the brew and joined Winnie at the table.

      She suspected the old woman hadn’t rented the upstairs of her house to Savannah because she needed the money but rather because she wanted companionship and somebody to cook for. Winnie’s husband had died three years before, and it was obvious she was lonely.

      “How did you sleep?” Winnie asked, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening in concern. When Savannah had come home from Charlie’s place the day before she’d told Winnie what had happened.

      Savannah wrapped her hands around the warm coffee mug in an attempt to fight off a chill. “Terrible.” She suddenly remembered the nightmares that had plagued her all night, visions of blood and death and poor Charlie.

      Winnie shook her head. “I just don’t understand it. I don’t understand how anyone becomes so desperate they commit suicide.” She paused a moment to take a sip of her coffee. “Why, I saw Charlie yesterday at the grocery store and he seemed just fine.”

      Savannah stared at Winnie. “You saw Charlie at the grocery store? What time?”

      “I don’t know, it must have been around noon. We met in the ice cream section and he told me how much he loves butter pecan and I told him I was quite partial to plain old chocolate.”

      “Did he buy ice cream?”

      Winnie frowned. “I saw him get a gallon out of the freezer, but I didn’t see him when he left the store.”

      Savannah took a sip of her coffee, her brain burning up as it worked overtime. She knew how much Charlie had loved his butter pecan ice cream. Many evenings she’d shared a bowl with him as they had played a game of chess.

      Did a man who planned to commit suicide buy groceries? Did a man who intended to take his own life buy a gallon of ice cream?

      All through the night her gut instinct had told her that Charlie didn’t commit suicide, and the СКАЧАТЬ