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Mags’ Desserts. Purveyor of coconut, buttermilk pecan, and lemon icebox pies. Poison not included... but could it be?

No, of course not.

But...

Jackson had referred to me as a cyclone or a hurricane or some other natural disaster that blew through town and upended their lives. Turns out he wasn’t wrong.

Chapter Nine

Meal eaten. Death discussed. General chitchat handled.

I couldn’t concentrate through any of it. Every teacher I ever had said I was prone to daydreaming. My wild imagination would take off and get me in trouble as I made up grand stories. I preferred to think of what I did as creative license or a healthy extrapolation of facts. Gram used the words “embellishing” and “exaggerating.” Two things I clearly grew out of, but the name on the ledger was an actual thing.

Abigail Burns bought a pie from Gram and Celia. The pie had been delivered one day before her husband died. Gram and Celia were acting weird and getting weirder by the second. They had absolutely reacted to the news about the nasty husband being dead, and not in the usual town gossip kind of way.

I needed help to figure this out. An accomplice. An ally.

I settled for Jackson.

He put his dirty dishes in the sink, said his round of thank-yous, gave kisses to Gram and Celia, and headed back for what appeared to be the night shift portion of his legal job. I caught up to him as soon as he stepped out the door and into the warm night.

“Jackson.”

He stopped at the sound of my whisper-yell. “Why are you talking like that?”

I grabbed his arm and pulled him a few more feet away from the house. You know, just in case. “We have a problem.”

“We?”

He made everything difficult. “Gram and Celia.”

His skeptical expression morphed into concern. “What about them?”

“Something is wrong.”

“With dinner? The pork was delicious as usual.”

“Not the cooking.” I leaned in closer. Just far enough to smell him because I was human and weak and he always smelled amazing, tonight being no exception. “I need you to listen.”

He made a weird, strangled sound. “I’m trying.”

“This is about the poison. Well, not really. It’s about Celia and Gram and their sneaky behavior. Their odd reactions. Secrets.” I tightened my hold on his arm. Took a second to appreciate the muscle under my hand. “Actually, maybe it is about the poison. Not intentionally because I can’t see Gram and Celia doing that but something. I can’t tell what.”

“What are you talking about?”

He genuinely looked confused andhow was that possible? “Did you fall asleep during dinner?”

“I’m starting to think so.”

Fine. I’d spell it out. “Cash Burns and his wife.”

“Are you okay? You’re acting stranger than usual, and that’s saying something.”

This time he did the touching. His hand went to my waist and stayed there. Those impressive fingers brushed over the hem of my shirt. I didn’t need soothing, but I didn’t hate it. We never touched in a non-sibling way... except once... andoh, boy.

For a second, nothing moved. The sound of crickets and wind blowing through the trees filled in the background. The air felt sticky, signaling impending storms. It was near sundown, but I could see Jackson’s face.

I had to swallow three times before I could say a word.