Janet Evanovich - Full Bloom

Wes, who'd already introduced himself, shook his head. "I don't think you'll need a forensic anthropologist," he said, earning raised eyebrows from Lamar. "At least for the time being," he added. "Mrs. Fortenberry is certain the body is that of her husband."

Lamar glanced at Max as if seeking verification.

Max told him about the jacket and initials. "Jamie was present when Annie purchased it."

Danny Gilbert crossed the yard and joined the men. "Afternoon, Lamar," he said. They shook hands.

"What are you up to these days?" Lamar asked. "Done any fishing lately?"

Danny shook his head. "Work has been keeping me busy. I'm sanding Annie Fortenberry's wood floors today."

Lamar frowned. "Uh-oh. That sounds pretty suspicious if you ask me."

"Why is that?" Wes asked.

"A woman finds a body in her backyard and claims it's her missing husband, and all she can think of is having her floors sanded?" Lamar reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small notebook. "I'd better write that down. Might prove helpful in the investigation."

Max and Wes exchanged looks. There was a hint of a smile on Max's lips.

"Actually, Annie is taking it pretty hard," Danny said. "She's lying down."

"I've known Annie since she was a bookkeeper at Bates's Furniture," Lamar said. "I bought several rooms of furniture there. Used to go in once a month to pay on my bill. You know Herman Bates sells good-quality furniture at reasonable prices, and he offers discounts if you buy multiple rooms."

"So what do you think?" Max asked, nodding toward the grave.

"Well, I questioned Annie when Mr. Fortenberry first turned up missing and his mother started making all kinds of wild accusations. I'll tell you, that Eve is a piece of work. But I saw no reason to suspect foul play. 'Course this changes everything. By the way, who found the body?"

"Doc Holden's gardener." Wes pointed to the man, who was sitting on a tree stump, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

"Who's he talking to?" Lamar whispered.

"He's still pretty upset," Max said.

Lamar motioned for the officer who'd finished taking pictures. "I need for you to question that fellow over there," he said, nodding toward the gardener. "And go easy on him; he looks just shy of a straitjacket."

A car pulled into the driveway. Editor Mike Henderson from the Gazette hurried toward them, accompanied by Vera Bankhead, Jamie's secretary and assistant editor. She held a camera.

"Oh, cripes," Lamar said. "Just what I need. Let me do all the talking."

"We heard the news on the police scanner," Mike said. "Somebody found a body in Annie Fortenberry's backyard," he added. "What can you tell us?"

Despite the grave expression he wore, it was hard for most people to take Mike seriously, not only because he was young and still had that fresh-out-of-college look, but also because he was so noticeably unorganized. He seldom ironed his shirts, and scraps of paper fluttered from his pockets when he reached for his stash of pens, which often leaked and had stained most of his clothes. He was known to chase women, and he'd had his eye on Destiny Moultrie for months. Jamie often claimed she was trying to raise him to be a real editor.

"No comment," Lamar said.

Mike just stared back as if unsure what to do.

Sixty-year-old Vera Bankhead planted her hands on her hips. She looked younger than her age thanks to a complete makeover the year before, which included a Susan Sarandon hairstyle, and a new wardrobe that had put Vera on the top ten best-dressed list for the women at Mount Zion Baptist Church. The fact that Vera never missed a Sunday and could quote Scripture word-for-word did not deter her when it came to getting what she wanted. She could be quite formidable.

"Cut the bull, Lamar," she said. "It's our job to report the news. You know how hard it is to come up with a decent headline in this town."

"Are you armed?" Lamar asked.

"Not at the moment."

Lamar looked relieved. "All I can say right now is yes, we do have a body, but we don't know anything yet."

"Do you suspect foul play?" Mike asked.

Vera looked at him. "That has to be the dumbest question I've ever heard. Of course there was foul play. Dead people don't bury themselves."

Mike's face turned a bright red.

Vera looked at Lamar. "Do you have a suspect?"

"If I did I certainly wouldn't spill my guts to the newspaper."

Vera gave a menacing frown. "Are you smart-mouthing me? Because if you are I'll tell your mama and she'll slap you from here to Texas. She didn't raise you to talk back to your elders."

This time when Wes looked at Max he was having just as much difficulty keeping a straight face.

Lamar glanced their way. As if sensing their amusement, he hitched his chin high and squared his shoulders. "This is police business, Vera," he said, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd keep my mama out of it." He gave them a stern look. "And I don't want either of you going near the crime scene, you hear? The medical examiner will raise holy hell if he gets here and finds anything disturbed."

Vera tapped her foot impatiently. "How am I supposed to get a picture?"

Lamar pondered it. "Tell you what. You can take a picture of me pointing to the crime scene."

Vera sighed and shook her head. "It's shameful what you'll do to get your picture in the paper, but I guess that'll have to do for now." She raised the camera to her eyes and focused.

Lamar threw back his shoulders, sucked in his paunch, and gave a big smile, one arm outstretched, his index finger pointing to a small mound of dirt beside the open grave.

Vera lowered her camera. "What do you think you're doing? I'm not taking this picture for your high school yearbook. You need to look serious."

"Oh yeah." Lamar frowned at the camera and waited for Vera to snap his picture. "Now, if you will excuse me," he said, "I have work to do." He glanced at one of his deputies. "Nobody goes near the scene," Lamar said, cutting his eyes at Vera. The officer nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as Lamar headed toward the house.

Vera pursed her lips and looked at Mike. "If I weren't a good Southern Baptist I'd give Lamar Tevis the finger."

* * * * *

Annie blew her nose again and tossed the tissue into the wastebasket beside her bed. Jamie and Theenie sat on either side; Destiny and Lovelle stood at the foot. "I feel so guilty," Annie said. "All this time I've been telling people Charles left me for another woman. I never once suspected he was dead."

"Don't feel guilty, sweetie," Theenie said. "Charles probably would have left you anyway had he lived."

There was a knock at the door. Lovelle opened it. Lamar walked into the room. His gaze immediately fell on Jamie. "Your, um, editors are outside looking at the crime scene. I'd appreciate it if you'd make sure they don't mess with anything. You know how ornery Vera can be."

"Mike and Vera are professionals," Jamie said, although she knew Vera would stop at nothing to get a story, even if it meant breaking the law. And since she intimidated Mike, he would pretty much follow along. Jamie looked at Annie. "I'd like to touch base with them before they head back to the office. Will you be okay?"

Annie nodded.

Lamar waited until Jamie was gone. "Mrs. Fortenberry, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions if you think you're up to it."

"There's no need to be formal, Lamar," Annie said, offering him the closest thing she had to a smile. "Is it okay if my friends stay?"

"Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Why don't you grab that chair?" she said.

"Thanks." He picked up the ladderback chair and placed it closer to the bed. "Okay then," he said before pulling out his notepad once more. "I understand you have reason to believe the body out back is your husband's."