Chapter 11
Monroe walked Miss Georgia home, went inside her house with her, made her a cup of hot, bracing tea, and sat down facing her.
“Are you feeling better, Miss Georgia?” he asked, his face creased with worry.
“Thank you, Roe. I’m fine. I should be the one serving you. You are a hero.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m certainly not. I’m afraid, though, that you may have caused somebody to be concerned, what with all the questions you are asking different people about Thurston’s death. I appreciate that you’re wanting to help me, but I want you to stop. You’re putting yourself in danger and I’m able to take care of myself.”
Miss Georgia looked down at her tea cup. “Of course, Roe. I understand and I know you are perfectly capable of defending yourself. As you said, that car may have been aiming at you. I didn’t know you were walking up behind me.”
His eyes squinted into the distance. “Good thing I did too.”
The cup of tea helped and when Roe left, Miss Georgia went into the kitchen. Baking always calmed her down and there was nothing like stirring up a plain, white cake to get one back to a sense of normalcy. She glanced out of the window. The sun was edging toward the west and it looked like this would be a lovely, full moon night.
As Miss Georgia measured and stirred, her nerves settled and a righteous anger replaced them. How dare someone threaten her very life? What vile person roamed the streets of her dear home town? She would not involve Roe or Abigail any more; it was far too dangerous, but, come tonight, she was going to the cemetery and see what was happening over there. Would the strange lights reappear? She certainly had no truck with ghosts, but she was determined to put period to all the questions and accusations and rumors. It didn’t look like Lathe was any way close to finding out who had killed Thurston and robbed the bank, and she didn’t intend to let some cowardly person intimidate her with threats and near mishaps.
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