Deadline. Metsy Hingle

      “I guess that means there aren’t any strangers in town then?”

      “Other than a few tourists and some folks who are in for Miss Opal’s ninetieth birthday, no one worth mentioning. Who is it you’re interested in?”

      “A woman by the name of Abbott. Tess Abbott.”

      “Never heard of her,” Mary Lee informed him.

      “Do me a favor then. If she shows up, give me a call, will you?”

      “You got it, sugar.”

      Chapter Three

      Tess continued driving along the Mississippi interstate in the fog toward Grady. Lord, but she was tired, she thought. That last week at work had been a killer. She’d not only had her normal workload, but she’d taped a slew of segments to be aired during her absence. The only good thing about being so busy was that she hadn’t had time to dwell on the fact that her grandfather was no longer speaking to her, and that her grandmother was seriously distressed. The strain had been there on her grandmother’s face when Tess had left the town house the previous Saturday, and she’d heard it again in her voice when she’d called her from the D.C. airport yesterday morning.

      She groaned as she thought of yesterday. Things had gone downhill beginning with that call. Then her flight from D.C. to New Orleans had been delayed because of equipment problems. After being forced to take a later flight to the Big Easy, she’d also had to reschedule her flight from New Orleans to Jackson, Mississippi, only to find that the car she had originally reserved was no longer available. As a result she’d had to settle for a Ford Mustang when what she had wanted was a larger, more comfortable car.

      Then, because of her late arrival, she ended up spending the night at a hotel in Jackson and driving out to the state prison that morning. She’d spent the better part of the day wading through the red tape at the prison in her efforts to get information about Jody Burns. Granted, she hadn’t exactly been up front with the prison personnel about who she was, or why she wanted the information. But she’d stuck as closely to the truth as she could, explaining that she was doing a story about prison suicides and that she wanted to follow the history of Jody Burns and his journey from citizen to criminal, his life behind bars and how it led to his own suicide. But other than a few facts, figures and standard statements, she’d come away with very little. Her attempts to contact both the former prosecutor, Everett Caine, and her father’s defense attorney, Beau Clayton, had also proved futile. She’d even wondered if the roadblocks she’d encountered were courtesy of her grandfather, then decided that she might be just a little bit paranoid. As an investigative reporter she knew that she seldom got what she wanted on the first try.

      If she were superstitious and believed in omens, she’d be on her way back to the airport now instead of traveling on the interstate after nine o’clock on a Saturday evening feeling exhausted and hungry. She couldn’t help wondering, yet again, if her decision to come to Mississippi and dig up the past had been a mistake.

      At the sound of her cell phone ringing, Tess reached for her bag and retrieved the instrument. “Hello.”

      “Hi, kiddo. How’s Mississippi?”

      “Hi, Ronnie,” Tess said, pleased to hear the sound of her producer’s voice. “At the moment I’m on the interstate heading to Grady, so Mississippi consists of a stretch of concrete and glimpses of pine trees. How are things up there?”

      “They’ve been better.”

      Tess tensed. “Something wrong?”

      “Nothing I can’t handle. But I thought you should know the senator gave me an earful this afternoon. He is one unhappy man, and my guess is he’s going to put a call in to Stefanovich.”

      “I’m sorry, Ronnie.”

      “Like I said, it’s nothing I can’t handle. How’s it going on your end?”

      “Not exactly the way I’d hoped. I hit a brick wall at the prison and I haven’t had any luck reaching the prosecutor or defense attorney yet. But you know me, the more obstacles I hit, the harder I go at it.”

      “That’s the mark of a good reporter.”

      “Or at least a stubborn one,” Tess replied. “Either way, I’m not giving up yet. I’m going to Grady now to do some digging there, and then I’ll try the prison and lawyers again.”

      “You sure it’s worth all this effort?”

      “What do you mean?” she asked.

      “I mean, once I got past the senator’s angry bark and him ordering me to call you off this assignment, I listened to all his reasons for not wanting you to go nosing around in the past. And the truth is, a lot of it made sense. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

      “No.” Which was the truth. She wasn’t sure. And more than once during the past week remembering how much she’d upset not only her grandfather, but her grandmother, she had wondered the same thing. “But whether it’s the right thing to do or not, it’s something I have to do, Ronnie. I need to find out the truth and whether Jody Burns really did kill my mother.”

      “Then what? Will knowing be enough?”

      “I don’t know. But it’s a start.”

      “All right, kiddo. But if someone else was responsible and they made your father’s death look like a suicide, they aren’t going to like you nosing around. So you watch your back.”

      “Don’t worry, I will,” she promised.

      “You’d better. I gotta run. Make sure you stay in touch, kiddo.”

      “I will. ’Night, Ronnie.”

      After she ended the call, Tess felt more alone than ever. Despite what she’d told Ronnie, she couldn’t help wondering if she had made a mistake by coming to Mississippi. While she wanted the truth, and was prepared to deal with whatever she did discover, she hadn’t given a lot of thought to how her investigation would affect her grandparents—in particular her grandmother. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt either of them. Yet, didn’t they deserve to know the truth, too? she asked herself.

      Deciding she was too tired and hungry to think straight, Tess stared at the exit signs. What should have been a three-hour drive from Jackson to Grady had turned into four-plus hours because she had left in the middle of rush-hour traffic. And based on the exit number, she still had a good half hour to go before she reached the exit to the Magnolia Guesthouse.

      So when she spotted the sign indicating gas and rest-rooms at the next exit, Tess flicked on her turn signal. She’d stop, refuel and grab something to eat, she told herself as she took the dark winding off-ramp from the interstate that turned into a blacktopped country road. She stopped at the end of the exit, looked both ways and noted the light to her left had turned red. She had just pressed on the accelerator when a beat-up old pickup ran the light. Tess gasped as she slammed her foot on the brake. The pickup sped by, narrowly missing her car.

      “So much for Southern manners,” she muttered before starting on her way. Five minutes later when she pulled the Mustang up to the gas pumps at the Quick Stop, Tess thought she spied the old pickup parked in front of the store. She considered going over and giving the owner a piece of her mind. And doing so, she reasoned, was not the way to start off her stay in Grady.

      Lester De Roach saw the little red Ford Mustang pull up to the gas pump as he shut off his old truck at Bobby Ed’s Quick Stop. Some rich bitch using her daddy’s car, he figured, and chuckled to himself because he’d probably scared the hell out of her back there at the interstate.

      Served her right, he thought. She probably didn’t know the first thing about what it was like to have to work for a living. Unlike himself who had been working his whole damn life. Climbing out of the truck, he ignored the Mustang and its driver and headed inside the convenience store to grab a six-pack