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supported a veranda that I’d outfitted with comfortable chairs and a chaise longue that I rarely had the opportunity to use.
    Inside the house, a horseshoe-shaped staircase curved elegantly to the second story. The foyer was the height of both floors and was illuminated by a crystal chandelier. The main floor contained a state-of-the-art kitchen, a dining room, a library, and a ballroom. The west wing served as employees’ living quarters. The east wing was a three-car garage.
    I’d spent plenty of time and money renovating the downstairs. My father was supervising the remodeling of the upstairs. The work was coming along nicely. By Christmas I
hoped to have the extra rooms rented to my first boarders. I had plans to turn this big, historic home into a boardinghouse to help defray the expense of renovation. I’d thought about running a bed-and-breakfast, but I didn’t have the time to devote to keeping track of reservations, and I didn’t want to hire anyone to do this task. Besides, I liked constancy. I wanted to get to know the people that stayed in my home.
    My stomach growled, reminding me that it was time to eat. I moved into the kitchen where I had the place to myself. Normally, my housekeeper, DeeDee, was up and cooking. At twenty-three, she was passionate about the process of creating fine cuisine. She especially liked to revamp ordinary recipes into fabulous edibles, while keeping the calorie and fat grams to a minimum. Since I was forever watching my weight but loved good food, I encouraged her to cook up a storm.
    I had the refrigerator door open, studying the contents, when I heard DeeDee enter the kitchen. I glanced around. She’d recently had her dark hair trimmed and permed into a neat cap of curls. Her shoulders were square, her waist dainty. In a pair of shorts and crop top, she looked fresh and cool. I might have complimented her, but I had other things on my mind. I pointed to a shelf that contained several covered bowls.
    â€œWhat’s in those?” I asked. “I’m hungry.”
    DeeDee rolled her large, expressive brown eyes. “What’s new about that?”
    I grinned. When I’d first met DeeDee she stuttered so badly she rarely spoke. It hadn’t helped her situation to be tethered to her mother’s protective apron strings. Leaving home and coming to work for me had broadened the scope of DeeDee’s life. Learning to cook, keeping my household running smoothly had given her poise and confidence. I loved her like a daughter. Hearing her speak without stuttering was gratifying. I couldn’t
have been more proud of her had she been my own flesh and blood. I wanted to give her a hug, but that would have embarrassed her.
    Teasingly, I said, “You’re becoming a gabby, brazen little hussy, aren’t you?”
    DeeDee spoke slowly. “It is the fault of the people I associate with.”
    I lowered my eyebrows and frowned. “I knew my father would be a bad influence on you.”
    DeeDee chuckled. “Albert isn’t the problem.” She moved past me and reached into the refrigerator. Removing a casserole dish from the bottom shelf, she said, “You’re up early. It’ll t-take fifteen minutes to w-warm up this c-crustless quiche.” With her knee, she gave the door a nudge.
    Fifteen minutes? My stomach craved food now. Just as the door was about to close, I saw a hunk of Colby cheese wrapped in cellophane. I made a successful snatch and took my appetizer to the table. After I’d sat down, I removed the wrapping and munched in silence, staring off into space.
    â€œYou’re not t-talking,” said DeeDee. She picked up the piece of plastic I’d left on the table and tossed it into the trash. “That’s not a g-good sign. Neither is your being up early. What’s going on?”
    â€œSid is coming by later.”
    â€œThe s-sheriff?”
    I nodded. “He’s taking my