Dead On the Bayou Read online

  Cover Copy

  It may be easier to patch up an old home than a broken heart. But along the Louisiana bayou, where beauty and danger mingle all too seamlessly, thoughts of romance may have to simmer on the back burner . . .

  Twin sisters and fellow divorcees Sunny Taylor and Eve Vaughn have established their home repair and remodeling business with an eye toward quality and personal attention. So when they’re approached by hunky Dave Price to fix up his bayou fishing camp, they’re more than happy to take the job—especially since they both secretly think he may prove to be more than just another satisfied customer . . .

  The ramshackle campsite could certainly use a woman’s touch. What it does not need is a dead body—but that’s what the trio stumble across. Clearly, the poor soul was murdered—and once the town tongue-waggers get going, Sunny, Eve, and Dave come under suspicion of the police, not to mention potential clients . . .

  Now, with their futures on the line, their brewing love triangle will have to wait. Helped—and harried—by the twins’ mother and her retirement home’s cadre of amateur sleuths, the trio starts snooping on their own. But when another dead body turns up, they’ll have to get their hands dirtier than a swamp-bottom snake if they hope to clear their names . . .

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  Books by June Shaw

  Twin Sisters Mysteries

  A Fatal Romance

  Dead On the Bayou

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Dead On the Bayou

  A Twin Sisters Mystery

  June Shaw

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Copyright

  Lyrical Press books are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by June Shaw

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  First Electronic Edition: August 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0093-4

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0093-X

  First Print Edition: August 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0096-5

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0096-4

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Bob and all my family—You are my reason for being

  Acknowledgements

  My family and friends, I don’t know what I would do without you. Thank you for all of your encouragement and love.

  For years I saw through SOLA, my RWA writers group in New Orleans, that becoming an author of books people wanted to read was possible and increasingly probable. What a tremendous group of friends.

  I learned so much about writing mysteries from countless people in Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the Guppies. It’s amazing how much other writers want to share with you and want you to succeed. Thank you.

  Thank you, God, for all of the blessings in my life, especially the people.

  Thanks to all the folks from South Louisiana. Y’all rock like no others, bless your hearts.

  Working with Lyrical Press has been truly amazing. Marci Clark does an excellent job editing my work. Managing Director Renee Rocco is wonderful and has people continue to work on books until they shine, so I guarantee you any errors that might still occur are all mine.

  To you, my readers, my words on the page would sit alone without you. I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to share my imagination with you. I really love to have you contact me and write reviews. Reviews truly help authors survive.

  Chapter 1

  I had never seen my identical twin Eve so content and so miserable. While cicadas screamed and the sun began its slow descent, a small group of family and friends stood in her windy front yard, one emotion of hers twisting into the other when the corners of her clear blue eyes lifted and an instant later drooped. Their sparkle dulled and her face saddened as she looked at the baby in her arms that she would soon need to give away.

  The wind blew her flame-red waves across her face while she snuggled her weeks-old grandchild Noah, pressing the pink-faced bundle against her tall slender body as though she needed him there for her to continue to breathe.

  Her daughter Nicole stepped closer to them and pulled the white medical mask off her own face and stretched out her arms. With a soft sigh, Eve pressed a lingering kiss on the baby’s forehead and handed him over.

  “Oh, my God, how wonderful it feels to get to take him home.” The young woman who looked like a small replica of her mother planted kisses all around the boy’s tiny face. “Mom, thank you so much for keeping him.” She squeezed my sister’s hand.

  “The pleasure was mine.” Eve’s shoulders remained stiff, as though she were forcing herself to stay back, although she probably wanted to keep both of them inside her arms.

  I knew the feeling, but surely not with as much intensity as she experienced. I reached the index finger of my right hand out, slid it beneath Noah’s fingers, and for the last time felt the snug grip of his small hand. Yes, I also wanted to keep the only child in our family around. I also longed to rock him again on Eve’s comfy rocker bought only for him, and smell his new baby-powdery smells, and snuggle with him. I lived on the next street, so I had been around him often. Now they were taking him to another state.

  “Aunt Sunny, thank you for helping Miss Eve take care of him.” Nicole’s husband Randy, a nice fellow of average height and build, gave Eve and me quick hugs. “Y’all need to come out and see us in Houston sometime.”

  Both of us nodded, neither saying a word while they buckled the babe into his sturdy infant seat in the backseat of the car, but others who’d had dessert with us didn’t remain quiet.

  “Y’all stay safe,” our mother called to them. “And keep him warm.” It wasn’t winter here in south Louisiana, and even if it were, the temperature might be eighty-five. We’d learned our mom had wrapped Eve and me in blankets so much after we were born that summer about forty years ago, we kept a rash coating our bodies so that strangers feared coming near. They thought we had measles, but we actually sported heat rashes. “You don’t want that precious boy to catch a cold or the flu,” Mom said.

  Her words made Nicole and Randy jerk their faces toward her, their previous happiness replaced by fearful expressions with eyes tight and brows furrowed. The flu was what made them need to avoid their newborn. Nicole had come down with the virus soon after he was born, and shortly afterward Randy developed a worse case. They couldn’t be near Noah unless they were outside, and even then they needed to wear medical masks. No other family lived aro
und them. That’s why those of us in bayou country got the pleasure of his company for a while. But now he was leaving us.

  Dave Price, the handsome businessman Eve and I were attracted to—although my feelings remained secret thus far—stepped closer to us on the circular drive while the young family pulled away. “Flu germs wouldn’t stay in their car or their house, would they?”

  I waited for Eve to reply, but she only sighed and watched the car. She had invited Dave to join our family for the bread pudding I’d made and she’d served and to see the baby before he departed.

  “They’ve been decontaminating everything,” I said. “They used sanitary wipes on every surface a number of times and sprayed so much disinfectant that a germ would feel terrorized about taking up residence on any fiber in their home or cars.”

  “Great. I know they’ll be thrilled to be together.”

  I knew they would, too. I only wished they could stay closer to us.

  “That sure is a cute baby.” The slender, frightfully pale woman who had remained across the yard from us kept her eyes toward the family’s car until it moved out of view. “I’ll be going home now.”

  “It was nice of you to come out here to see him,” I told her, although I could have been speaking to the wind for all of the response I received.

  The woman, Mrs. Wilburn, took long steps toward her house, the one to the right of my sister’s. I realized that even though I lived close and came to Eve’s place often, this was only one of the handful of times I had seen her neighbor outside. It was definitely the first time I had seen the woman’s small, dark eyes not look mean. Usually seeing them spear me from her window next door almost brought a Christmas carol out of my mouth, a horrible trait of mine that fear sometimes triggered. This day she had come here because she’d seen the baby. I normally referred to her only as “your snoopy neighbor” when I mentioned her at all to Eve since I had seen Mrs. Wilburn’s eyes peering toward Eve’s place many times through the front window facing Eve’s as though someone placed her there to stand guard.

  Now her young adult son Royce took her place between those curtains. He often stood right behind her at that window. At the moment, his expression appeared grim. His lips seemed extra tight pressed together and his normally stern eyes looked sad. Why? Sudden thoughts came that maybe he wished to become a father. Or was he already one, but for some reason couldn’t be with his child? All we’d heard about him since he returned to stay with his mother was that he had many debts from trying to gamble for a living in Las Vegas.

  “I need to get back to the manor. Sunny, you’re going to bring me? I can’t wait to tell my friends all about that little boy.” Mom’s snowy hair bounced in the sunshine while she moved, shoving the strap of her white purse up on her shoulder with the hand most twisted from the rheumatoid arthritis that made her insist on residing in Sugar Ledge Manor, the assisted living home in town, instead of with Eve or me. Mom was one of its youngest residents. She gave Eve a hug and scurried to my truck.

  I squelched my instinct to ask Eve if she’d be okay. Of course she wouldn’t. Not now, and probably not for a few days at least. She had kept that baby almost a month and dreaded having him taken away. I gave her a one-armed hug and stopped myself from again suggesting she go and stay with the young family awhile.

  “They need their time together with their newborn,” she had said after both parents received their doctor’s approval to take their baby home, and I agreed.

  I suggested that Dave stay behind with Eve, which I believed would give her some comfort. He was her soulmate, she’d told me, even if she had never shared that idea with him. He knew she cared about him because she was more outgoing and pushy with men than I was. But he also knew she had previously loved many others, having married and divorced three men, who still showered her with signs of affection like jewelry and cars. The only thing my ex left me with was such a dread of sex that imagining myself doing that quick, miserable deed normally pulled a carol out of my throat. Except when I was around Dave.

  A relationship with him was something I wanted to explore. Eve and I had gotten to know him a few months ago when she had his company install an alarm system in her house. During the few times I’d been around him, I felt he might care for me, too, although this wasn’t the time to admit it to my sister. She had urged me to find a man to get into a romantic relationship with because I’d avoided romance since the unpleasant experiences with the man I’d married. I had been ready to tell her about the person I wanted when excitement interrupted my admission. Since then we’d been busy with the baby.

  With unusual wordiness, Mom didn’t let me speak. She chattered all the way across town, admiring one thing and another about the baby—his tiny eyes, little lips, curly fine hair, his looking like his mother, which meant like Eve and me—and the minute she stepped down from my truck, repeated those descriptions and many others about her first great-grandchild to the people she saw outside the manor. She didn’t need me to go in with her, which was fine since I wanted to get back to Eve.

  When I arrived, her front yard and drive were empty. Disappointment sat inside me since Dave already left. I questioned my reasoning and knew that no, I didn’t want him there for me this time.

  I rang the doorbell and then used my key to let myself in. “Hey, I’m back,” I called while I entered. When she didn’t respond, I rushed through her picture-perfect spacious den that normally had nothing out of place. Now a small pink and blue striped blanket lay on the coach beside a blue plastic baby bottle holding a trace of milk. Instead of the room’s usual vanilla scent from candles, it carried the enticing smell of baby.

  Stepping into her art room beyond the den, I found Eve flinging black paint from a brush onto a canvas on a stand. “Your art is matching your mood.”

  She didn’t reply or glance at me. She dipped her brush in a can and stroked big black marks on her painting. Nothing else was in this room where she used to create colorful, bright paintings until someone broke into her house and destroyed all her work. Those paintings had represented men she’d dated, their brightness and size representing her feelings toward them. The one she had created for Dave had been brightest of all. It was their relationship she expected to experience.

  With all of her first artwork gone, she would have started on more that represented men. Instead, a grandchild popped into her life, and she treasured each moment with him. Obviously, her happy moments had vanished.

  I watched her long minutes while she seemed not to know I was there. I ached inside for her and wanted to do something. “Call if you need me,” I said.

  Getting no response, I made my way out the front door, shoulders as heavy as my spirits because I could do nothing to help her feel better now. Probably Dave left so early because she had ignored him, too, and gone straight to her dark paints.

  Outside, I heard a welcome sound. Somebody nearby was using a hammer. A glance to the left of Eve’s house let me see her fairly new neighbor, Jake Angelette, knocking a short stake into the grass beside her yard.

  “I sure wish I could do that.” I felt a mournful look gripping my face and stepped closer.

  Jake was a financial advisor in his mid-forties. Dimples formed when he smiled and made him especially not bad to look at, although my sister looked at men much more than I did. He was divorced and sometimes dated, she had told me. I wished she would date Jake and leave Dave for me.

  Jake stopped working. “You can’t?” He nudged his chin toward scattered items in his open toolbox. “Don’t you and Eve own a remodeling and repair business?”

  “We do.”

  “Then I’m sure you both know how to handle tools really well. Eve looked right at home using that power nailer when I helped her board up that sliding glass door someone smashed at her house.”

  His mention of that horrible incident when she almost died sent shivers down my back and arms. “Of course we can use tools. Our daddy was a good teacher. But
I have problems with my shoulder that have developed more difficulties and my doctor won’t give me clearance yet to work on people’s houses. We have customers waiting.” My insurance wouldn’t cover medical attention if I did physical work for others now. And if he didn’t know that being shot had caused my problem, I didn’t need to discuss it with him or anyone else who hadn’t heard about my encounter with a gunman. “I’m developing sketches for someone’s remodeling that we have subcontractors working on.” And I hoped Eve’s sadness cleared so she could come up with more creative ideas.

  “I hope your shoulder gets better fast.”

  “Thanks.” I noticed the wood he had knocked in the ground. “You’re making a fence?”

  Dimples deepened in his cheeks. “Almost everybody around here has one.” He pointed to the white vinyl one that ran behind his lawn and the similar one on the opposite side of his house.

  I took a couple of steps away and turned. “You have your permit, don’t you?”

  “I need one?”

  “If you’re going to build a fence over six feet tall to match both of theirs, you do. Most people don’t realize that.” It was one of the many recent rules for permits that made people avoid some remodeling in the first place.

  I needed to drive around only one block to the rear to reach my place. With houses less fine than on Eve’s street and plants selected and planted by people who were paying on those homes instead of landscapers, lawns here didn’t look as lush. Cars were less fancy. Most of us had carports instead of closed garages. Sometimes the differences in our places bothered me, but not anytime lately. We had experienced happy times since Eve became a grandmother. I still couldn’t believe my sister’s child gave birth. We were still so young. But Nicole had done like Eve and married at an early age. Baby Noah thrilled us. But now Eve was wretched. I wished I could make her feel better.