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Also by Livia J. Washburn
FRANKLY MY DEAR, I’M DEAD
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
HUCKLEBERRY Finished
LIVIA J. WASHBURN
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
For Larry and Karen Mackey,
with thanks for their help
on rebuilding our home.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 1
Mark Twain once wrote, “I can picture that old time to myself now, just as it was then…the great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mississippi, rolling its mile-wide tide along, shining in the sun.”
As I stood at the railing of the Southern Belle, I knew what he meant. I had seldom seen anything quite so beautiful and serene as the great river. Sure, the scenery along the banks wasn’t as pristine and unspoiled as it was back in Twain’s day. I could see tall fast-food signs and electrical lines and jets winging across the blue summer sky. But out here in the middle of the river all I could hear were the gentle rumble of the boat’s engines and the splashing of the paddlewheels as they propelled us through the water at a sedate pace. I felt the faint vibrations of the engine through the deck, and the sun was warm on my face. If you closed your eyes, I thought, it would almost seem like you were really back there and Sam Clemens himself was up in the pilothouse, guiding the riverboat toward the next quaint little river town where it would dock.
And then somebody’s dadgum cell phone rang.
“Yellll-o!”
That’s the way he said it, swear to God.
“Yeah, guess where we are?…We’re on a riverboat!…Yeah, on the Mississippi. Helen wanted to come. But it’s so freakin’ slow, I think I could walk faster! Haw, haw!”
My hands tightened on the smooth, polished wood of the railing. I figured I’d better hold on, because a good travel agent never punches her clients. That’s one of the first rules they teach you.
“What?…No, damn it, I told him those reports had to be finished by yesterday…What’s he been doing this whole time, sitting around with his thumb up his—”
I couldn’t let him go on. I turned around and said, “Sir!”
He looked surprised at the interruption. He was a big guy, balding, with the beginnings of a beer gut in a polo shirt. Played college football, from the looks of him, but that was more than twenty years in the past. Beside him, wearing a visor, sunglasses, a sleeveless blue blouse, and baggy white shorts, was a blond woman carrying a big straw purse and a long-suffering look. She was married to the loudmouth, more than likely.
He said, “Hold on, Larry,” into the cell phone, then took it away from his ear. “Yeah? What can I do for you?”
About a dozen other members of my tour group had lined up along the railing. I gestured vaguely toward them and said, “These folks are tryin’ to, you know, soak up the ambience of the river, and your business conversation is a little jarring.”
“I’m sorry”—he didn’t sound like he meant it—“but I got a crisis on my hands here.”
“I understand that. Maybe you could go inside to talk to your associate.”
He shook his head. “My crappy phone won’t work in there. I’m barely getting any reception out here.” He put the crappy phone back to his ear and went on, “Larry, you still there? You tell that worthless little weasel to get those reports done by the end of the day or he’s fired! You got that? And if any of this comes back on my head, he ain’t gonna be the only one, capeesh?”
I didn’t know whether to be mad at him for ignoring me or flabbergasted at the guy’s language. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard anybody say “Capeesh?”
“Yeah, yeah, you and Holloway both know where you can put your excuses. Just take care of it.”
He snapped the phone closed, looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Now are you satisfied, lady?
I managed to say, “Thank you.”
He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and moved off down the railing toward the stern.
His wife lingered long enough to say, “I’m sorry, Ms. Dickinson. Eddie’s just very devoted to his business.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Kramer,” I told her. I had finally remembered their names. “I understand.”
I didn’t, not really, but that’s what you tell people anyway. I didn’t understand why people would pay good money to take a vacation and then bring their work with them. I was devoted to my business, too, but if I were getting away from it, I’d get as far away as I could and stay there until it was time to go home.
Louise Kramer smiled at me and then followed her
