BEVERLY BARTON - The Black Widow

Ryan came up to them and draped his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yes, whenever you are.”

He looked at Jordan. “I’ll let Nicole know that Mr. Carson can stay with us during the investigation. And I apologize again for not consulting you first.”

“I understand your motives,” Jordan said. “And as for Mr. Carson staying with you and Claire—that won’t be necessary. We have more than enough room for him here, far more room than y’all have.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. “I got the feeling that you didn’t especially like Mr. Carson.”

“I don’t know Mr. Carson. But if Nicole thinks he’s the best agent to spearhead the private investigation, then I have no objections. After all, she’s the expert, not you or I.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to think that someone murdered Dan, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”

“You mean that it’s the only explanation you will accept.”

“Yes, it is the only explanation I’ll accept,” Ryan agreed. “I refuse to believe that Dan would commit suicide, not even after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” His face flushed with aggravation. When Claire leaned into him, he tightened his hold around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. “I’m okay, honey.”

“You should both go home and try to get some rest,” Jordan said. “I’ll contact Nicole and inform her that we decided Mr. Carson will stay here at Price Manor during the investigation. And I’ll tell the others tonight that we have hired the Powell Agency to look into the circumstances surrounding Dan’s death.”

Claire offered her a wavering smile, and then she ushered Ryan out the front door. Jordan closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The very last thing she and this family needed right now was a private detective sticking his nose into matters that were highly confidential.

But if Dan really had been murdered?

“Jordan, are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet.” The country twang to Roselynne’s voice was quite distinctive. Her stepmother had been raised on a farm on Sand Mountain in the northeastern tip of Alabama and had lived a rather hard life before marrying Jordan’s father. Jordan had been twelve years old. Her own much-adored mother had been dead for less than two years and in the beginning, Jordan had despised Roselynne.

She turned to face her stepmother, a voluptuous blonde whose clothing tastes ran to animal prints, four-inch heels, and oversized jewelry. Today, even though her hair was teased and her makeup was heavy, she wore a simple black dress, albeit one that hugged every generous curve of her 58-year-old body. Trailing along behind Roselynne, her daughter Tammy paled in comparison, like a little brown wren alongside a red bird.

“I’m all right. Just tired.”

“Well, of course, you’re tired. Who wouldn’t be after the day you’ve had. Good God, I think the whole damn state of Georgia tramped through this house and probably half of Tennessee to boot.” Roselynne placed her fleshy arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “Are you hungry, honey?” She snapped her fingers at Tammy. “Go get your sister a plate of food and some iced tea.”

“No, please, I couldn’t eat a bite.” Jordan looked at her stepsister, their gazes meeting for a millisecond before Tammy bowed her head shyly and clasped her hands together in front of her.

“Lord help you, girl,” Roselynne hugged Jordan to her side. “You’re going to waste away to nothing.”

“I’d be more than happy to fix something for you,” Tammy offered, her voice not much more than a whisper.

Before Jordan could reply, Darlene Wright came into the foyer and eyed Roselynne and Tammy with her usual disdain. “Will you please leave her alone and stop nagging her. What Jordan needs is peace and quiet.” She shooed Roselynne aside. “Why don’t we go up to your room? I’ll draw you a nice warm bath and if you’d like, I’ll have Vadonna bring up a tray later.”

“Jordan doesn’t need to be alone.” Roselynne squinched her face in a sourpuss frown directed at Darlene. “She needs to be surrounded by family.” She emphasized the word family.

Jordan closed her eyes for a moment, wishing that just this once her stepmother and Darlene could put aside their personal differences. From the moment the two women first met, more than a dozen years ago when Jordan became engaged to Darlene’s son, Robby Joe, they had disliked each other. During the years since, nothing had changed. Each laid claim to being Jordan’s surrogate mother, each loving Jordan in her own unique way, each adding immensely to the burden of family responsibility that weighed heavily on Jordan’s shoulders.

Within those brief minutes when Jordan gathered her thoughts before she took charge of the situation, the other members of her family-and-friends entourage migrated from the two parlors into the foyer. She had hoped to find a few moments alone with Devon to tell him about hiring the Powell Agency before telling everyone else. But with all those eyes focused on her, everyone waiting expectantly for her to say or do something that would put them at ease, she decided that there was no point in putting off the inevitable.

“Please, everyone, I need to share some information with y’all,” Jordan said. “Afterward, I’ll need a few moments alone with Devon and then I plan to go to my room—alone—and I’d appreciate no one disturbing me tonight.”

“Oh, Jordan, honey, you shouldn’t be alone,” Roselynne said.

“Good God, Mother, leave her alone,” J.C. called from the other side of the foyer. “Jordan doesn’t need you smothering her with your show of motherly affection.”

“Johnny Cash Harris, my affection for your sister is genuine and you damn well know it!” Roselynne glared at her son, who stood lounging insolently against the doorframe, a glass of his usual scotch and soda in his hand.

“Will all of you please listen to what I have to say.” Jordan spoke louder than she had intended, but her tone and volume achieved the effect she had wanted. To a person, everyone quieted and looked right at her.

“We’re listening,” Devon told her as he came forward, pausing a few feet away, his sky-blue eyes focused on her.

Jordan cleared her throat. “Y’all know that the GBI coroner ruled Dan’s death a suicide.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid there is some question as to whether or not it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself.”

When rumbling noises spread through the foyer, Jordan held up a restraining hand. “Please, hush…right now. Ryan and I have hired the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency to conduct an investigation into Dan’s death. Tomorrow, a Powell agent, Mr. Rick Carson, who was at the funeral today with Claire’s cousin, Nicole Powell, will arrive here at Price Manor. Mr. Carson will be staying here during the course of the investigation. I want y’all to treat Mr. Carson as our guest and cooperate with him fully.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, that there is reason to believe that Dan was murdered?” Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant and longtime friend voiced the question that no doubt was going through everyone’s mind.

“Yes.” Jordan held her hands open at either side of her body in a defensive stance, a silent warning for the others to keep their distance. She’d had as much sympathy and comforting today as she could endure. “Any questions or concerns you have will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll see all of you in the morning.” She held out her hand to Devon. “I need to speak with you a moment. Alone.” Her gaze traveled around the room issuing a silent order to everyone present.

Within two minutes, the foyer had cleared, leaving Jordan and Devon completely alone.