3
After the sheriff’s departure, Lonna and I sat in silence and sipped our coffee.
“Somebody wants you to have this place, Joanie.”
I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. “Either that or somebody doesn’t want someone else to have it.” Like Leonard Bowman. As much as he’d been described as a loafer living off his brother’s generosity, he looked like he worked toward some sinister purpose.
“Regardless, you're the designated heir. I have a mystery to solve, so I need to ponder my strategy,” Lonna mused. Her eyes focused on a spot on the wall, and I knew she was drawing up a list in her mind. It was the same look she’d gotten on numerous previous occasions—some innocent planning, some diabolical plotting. Sometimes they had ended well for me, and sometimes not. I wondered which it w
