Page 49 of The Graveyard Girls (Detective Ellie Reeves #11)

FORTY-EIGHT

Daisy’s Diner

Ida choked on her fried chicken as her gaze met Tilly’s. A litany of curse words boomeranged in her head.

She leaned closer to Hetty and whispered, “Lord have mercy. You were right. Tilly’s here. I hoped we’d never have to see her damn face again.”

Ida wiped her mouth and reached for her sweet tea, washing down the chicken stuck in her throat.

“Bet she came about that body,” Hetty muttered. “I heard she’s some kind of reporter at the Atlanta paper.”

The ice in Ida’s glass clinked as she set her tea glass on the table.

She had to admit Tilly looked better than she used to.

She’d always lived in Ruth’s shadow, but she was attractive now, not the mousy girl with her nose crammed in a book all the time.

Her dark auburn hair looked soft and wavy, her skin clear, and without glasses, her brown eyes looked almost golden.

Her sweater was neat, her jeans nice, not raggedy like hers.

Ida looked ancient in comparison. Some days she felt like she needed tape to lift her baggy eyes. And Hetty’s skin was leathery from working in the gardening center and taking care of the graveyard. Most days she smelled like sweat and fertilizer.

Ida’s stomach twisted into knots. “She’s not our only problem.”

Hetty rocked her chair back and forth in a nervous gesture. “You mean the dead girl and the cops?”

“Yeah. And did you hear who’s working with that detective?”

“The FBI,” Hetty said, her voice cracking.

Ida nodded. “That ranger, too. You remember him, don’t you?”

Hetty scrunched her nose in thought but seemed confused. “Who is he?”

Sometimes Ida thought Hetty might be having memory issues, maybe early onset Alzheimer’s. Or breathing in the fertilizer could be killing her brain cells.

“Cord McClain.”

Hetty’s eyes widened in panic as the realization dawned. “Shit, we have to avoid him . The police are going to be all over the place again.”

Ida nodded, her stomach roiling. “They’re gonna wanna know where Daddy is.”

Hetty pressed her trembling hand over Ida’s. “Then we tell them the same thing we did before.”

The lie rose in Ida’s throat as if it was yesterday. She had to swallow hard to get it out. “Right, we stick to our story.”

“He left and we don’t know where he is,” Hetty finished.

Ida stewed for a minute. “Exactly. The less we say the better. If we start speculating or talking about him, they’ll just ask more questions.”

Questions neither one of them wanted to answer.