The Gift of Grift Read online

  “Don’t be silly.” Her voice was far less confident than her words, but it was her eyes that really scared Ray.

  Because Katie was scared.

  Ray squeezed her hand, and Katie squeezed back. At least she had that strength. Ray picked up her book and set it in her hands again. “Is it a good one?”

  Katie shrugged. “Spy novels usually aren’t my favorite, but this one is pretty funny. You’ll have to see if you can find the rest of the series.”

  He smiled. “Of course, dear.”

  She opened the book and flipped through the pages to find her lost place. “How was George?” she asked. “After Betty.”

  Ray nodded. “I remembered. He was . . . he seemed a little lost.”

  “I can understand that,” Katie said. “How could you not be lost without the person you’ve spent the last sixty years with?”

  Ray met his wife’s eyes. As difficult as it was to care for her so much, so much of the time, he couldn’t help but agree. He’d be more than lost without her.

  Of course, he wasn’t sure that would mean he’d wander into his friends’ establishments, seem not to know where he was, misplace things, and act uncharacteristically grouchy.

  Taken all together, that definitely didn’t sound good for George.

  Ray planted a kiss on Katie’s forehead. “I think I’m going to check up on him soon.”

  Concern flickered across Katie’s face, but she nodded. “Good idea.”

  The bell on the shop door below them clanged, and Ray hurried back down the stairs. At least it was a little bit easier to make the return trip, though not by much.

  On the sales floor, he found a young tourist couple. Honeymooners, he guessed. He helped them select a set of coordinating T-shirts with a silhouette of North Carolina on them, settling on green for him and purple for her.

  That was a far more normal interaction. And transaction. They picked up some locally made salt water taffy and a print of the town from the river at sunset to commemorate their trip — confirming it was, in fact, their honeymoon — and Ray rang them up.

  He could remember when he and Katie were young lovebirds. They moved into this house and converted it into a business in the first five years of their marriage, although Katie had chosen to step back from most of her responsibilities in the shop when Debra was born.

  Ray glanced at the picture on the wall of their little family in front of the shop. He wished they’d been able to have more children — they both did — and now they didn’t even have Debra.

  The gloomy mood descended over Ray again and he wandered to the door, this time looking out at the beach and the strip of water he could see from there. Katie had a better view upstairs, but he had always been pretty content with the bit of the river he saw from his front porch. If it weren’t so frigid in February, he’d probably be out there on a rocker right now. But his joints would protest for days, and by the time warmer weather rolled around, the tourists and the income would come with it, and he’d have no time for rest and relaxation.

  Was he really going to spend his whole life working, taking care of others? What had happened to the idea of retirement? He couldn’t imagine shuttering or selling the shop, but he was ready for a rest.

  Before he ended up wandering lost like George did.

  If his mind ever did start to go, he hoped Katie would still be around to tell him. She might not be able to take care of him —

  He struck that thought out right away. If his mind ever went, no one would be there to care for Katie. Better for her to not have to suffer alone if he could spare her.

  Ray turned his attention to the buildings closer to him. The Mayweather House across the street. Maybe Lori would be there for Katie. They didn’t know one another very well, but Mitch, Lori’s new husband, had been Ray’s son-in-law for nearly two decades. He’d always taken care of them, even after Debra was gone.

  Ray looked down the street at the other historic buildings that were now businesses like his. Salt Water Bakes, [description]. He’d known Val Cromley since she was a Samuelson. The pink Mimosa Café, just out of sight down the block, was run by Kim Yates, who brought them dinner at least a couple times a month. Andrea at the museum was always kind. His friends, his found family. Could they take care of Katie? Could they help him now?

  He wasn’t sure he dared to ask. They were all so busy, and other than Lori, most of the other owners along Front Street didn’t live in their businesses.

  The burden settled on his shoulders again. Too much for one person, and yet he had nowhere to turn, it seemed.

  Just before Ray pivoted back to the shop, he spotted someone walking along the street — Sally the mail carrier, headed down the other side of the street. He’d never opened his mail.

  He settled on his stool behind the counter and picked up the stack of envelopes. As he’d thought, there was an electricity bill, a “letter” from a car dealership masquerading as a personal communiqué, and —

  Ray stopped short. Stamp Act Drive in Bolivia? There wasn’t much to do in the county seat and virtually nobody lived there — but that was where the Sheriff’s office was.

  And the detention center. [fact check?]

  The handwriting meant nothing to Ray, but he carefully tore open the flap. He pulled out the sheet of unlined paper and unfolded it.

  The letter had no greeting, jumping straight into the body of the message:

  My name is Shawn Kirk. We haven’t met, but I know you know who I am. I’m so sorry for the pain that I’ve caused you.

  This time in my life has been very difficult for me, too. All I wanted was to know my real parents, my biological parents. I know I’ve ruined my chance to know my mother forever. My father has been here, and he suggested I try to write to you, first of all, to let you know how deeply sorry I am.

  The letter continued, but Ray couldn’t read any more for the tears clouding his already not-that-sharp vision. He refolded the letter and tucked it back in the envelope.

  What was he supposed to do with that? An apology from his daughter’s murderer? That wouldn’t bring her back.

  But it was also a letter from his grandson.

  He said his father had been there? His biological father? Ray didn’t figure his adoptive dad would know who Ray and Katie were or where to write to them. Surely that was violating some sort of law, giving out their personal information like that.

  Unless inmates had access to telephone books? Or the Internet, maybe?

  Ray stood, halfway through the kitchen before he realized he was headed for the stairs. Normally, when something this important, this hard happened, he headed straight to Katie. But she’d been so tired and weak lately.

  He couldn’t lay this at her feet. If he felt overburdened right now, he could only imagine how she felt. This letter could only double that.

  With shaking hands, Ray set the letter on the kitchen table. He pressed one hand to the ache in his heart. For once, he was grateful Katie was confined upstairs. He could never let her see that. Or he might lose her, too.

  Read The Gift of Lift!

  Thank you so much for reading The Gift of Grift! I’m excited to share this cozy mystery with you. I have lots more planned for Ray, Katie and the rest of Dusky Cove, so I hope you’ll continue to join me for all their adventures!

  Do you know the best way to thank an author when you enjoy a book? We do love getting notes from happy readers, but even more helpful is leaving a review online on Amazon or Goodreads. Reviews also help writers get advertising spots and spread the word about a book.

  Until my next book comes out, I’d like to invite you to join my mailing group! I’ve got lots of fun bonuses there, from recipes from this book to a tourist’s guide to Dusky Cove. Join me here: http://dixiedavisauthor.com/newsletter/

  Thanks again for reading, and I hope to see you in Dusky Cove again soon!

  Love,

  More from Dixie Davis

 
Have you read Lori’s B&B mysteries yet? Read the whole series! Get Inn Over Her Head free in my readers mailing group!

  Then read Books 2-5 in the Dusky Cove B&B Cozy Mystery!

  Can Lori stop a killer again?

  Lori Keyes just wants to make her historic inn a comfortable B&B in the resort town of Dusky Cove, North Carolina — but people keep turning up murdered.

  Read Books 2-5 in the Dusky Cove B&B Cozy Mystery now!

  Read an excerpt from Inn Over Her Head now!

  Lori checked her watch. Twenty minutes past check-out time. And no sign of Dawn all day. “You know, I’d feel better if I went in and checked on her. Dawn’s going through a rough time. And if she’s not there, you can take a look at the door.”

  Mitch nodded and waited in the parlor while Lori fetched the keys from her office. He followed her up to the Sunset Beach Room. Lori tried knocking one last time. “Dawn? Are you in there?”

  Just as before, no answer. She hardly expected one now.

  “Okay, Dawn, I’m coming in.” Lori turned to Mitch. “Can I have you wait here? In case she’s . . . indisposed.”

  “Sure.” Mitch stepped back from the doorway, and Lori turned the key in the lock.

  “Dawn?” she called, tapping on the door one last time as she opened it.

  A black suitcase — the one Lori had carried up the stairs two days ago — sat on the chair, open, with the contents spilling out. Other than that, the room was clean. It didn’t look like her bed had been slept in since Lori made it yesterday.

  Was Dawn not here? Better make a full sweep of the room before she let Mitch in. Lori headed for the bathroom door, but a flash of blue on the dresser caught her attention: the plate for the lemon thyme zucchini bread. Empty. Had Dawn eaten them all? And Lori thought she was eating her emotions.

  Lori glanced in the trash can — and then did a double take. Nope, Dawn hadn’t eaten her emotions. Nearly the whole plateful had been dumped in the trash can. Ungrateful little —

  Lori forced herself to take a deep breath. She’d made the bread for Dawn, not herself, and if Dawn didn’t like them, it was better to throw them away than for Lori to eat them all.

  The bathroom door was open a crack, so Lori knocked once again. “Dawn? Is everything okay?”

  By now, Lori didn’t expect a response, and she wasn’t surprised. Until she pushed the door open.

  Dawn lay on the cool tile floor, her blonde bob covering her face.

  Shock bolted through Lori’s veins. She dropped to her knees next to the other woman, brushing her hair out of the way. “Dawn? Dawn, are you all right?”

  She didn’t move. Lori finally got her hair clear of her face, revealing her icy blue eyes, half closed and rolled back in her head. Lori pressed two fingers to Dawn’s jugular, but she didn’t have to wait for a heartbeat. Dawn’s skin was cold.

  She was touching a dead body.

  Another freezing bolt lanced through her. Lori hopped up and away, like a woman twenty years younger than her. Dawn . . . was dead?

  “Help!” Lori shouted. But Joey wasn’t here — Mitch. Mitch was still there. “Call 9-1-1!”

  Get Inn Over Her Head free in my readers mailing group now!

  This book wouldn’t have been possible without tons of help from so many sources. My family, as always, is so patient and supportive (even when I forget to appreciate how patient and supportive they’re being!).

  A huge thank you goes to my beta readers: Ingrid, Diana, Stacey, Linda, Regina Dowling, and Chris Green of the Colonial House Inn of St. Ignace. Each and every one of you gave such helpful feedback.

  Many thanks to my diligent and helpful proofreader, Sally Johnson!

  I’m grateful to God for giving me this gift, a passion for writing, and reminding me not to hide it under a bushel.

  And I’m grateful to you, reader, for joining me in Dusky Cove!

  Dixie Davis was born and raised in North Carolina. (Unfortunately, not in Dusky Cove — it’s a fictional town.)

  Her mom got her hooked on cozy mysteries from a young age. Lillian Jackson Braun’s classic Cat Who... series are some of her favorites.

  Dixie has been writing since she was a teenager. She makes her home with her husband and children in the Rocky Mountains now, so writing about Dusky Cove is one of her favorite ways to connect with a little taste of home.

  Dixie loves to hear from readers! You can reach her at [email protected].