And The Winner--Weds!. Robin Wells

wouldn’t have ended up walking around all morning looking as if an airborne goose had just used them for target practice.

      Maybe she should take them up on their offer to make her over. She had no expectations of being as glamorous as her cousins, but maybe, just maybe, she could gain a little of their self-assurance. Maybe Summer was right. Maybe if she quit feeling like such a nerd, she’d stop acting like one.

      “What the heck,” she muttered, heading upstairs to wash her hair for the second time that day. It was worth a try. When Jasmine got home, Frannie would tell her she’d agreed to the makeover.

      Frannie was still burning with mortification over the egg incident when the bell over the front door jangled thirty minutes later. She looked up from the computer to see a tall man in a tan uniform stroll into the foyer, accompanied by an attractive blond woman dressed in jeans and a white cotton shirt with a large black tote bag over her shoulder.

      Frannie rose from her seat and smiled. “Sheriff Rawlings, good morning!”

      Rafe Rawlings’s rugged face creased in a friendly smile. “Good mornin’, Frannie. I’d like you to meet my new detective, Gretchen Neal.”

      Frannie stepped forward and shook the blonde’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” The woman’s handshake was as sturdy as her tall, athletic build. With her milky skin, light blond hair and blue eyes, she reminded Frannie of the movie star Gwyneth Paltrow.

      “Gretchen just moved here from Elk Springs,” Sheriff Rawlings said. “But before that, she worked on the police force in one of the toughest neighborhoods in Miami. We’re lucky to have someone with her experience join our force.”

      “We sure are. Can I offer you two breakfast?”

      “No, thanks. I’m afraid we’re here on business today, Frannie.”

      Frannie raised her brows in surprise.

      Rafe’s dark eyes grew serious. “Gretchen’s heading up the investigation into Raven Hunter’s death. I need someone who can devote one hundred percent of their time to the case, and Gretchen’s got the background to handle it.”

      “I…see.” Although she didn’t. Not really. That still didn’t explain why they were here on a Sunday morning. “Do you have any other suspects? Other than Uncle Jeremiah?”

      “No one.” The sheriff adjusted his holster, his expression uneasy. He cleared his throat. “We’re still investigating your uncle.”

      Frannie nodded slowly. Her mother’s brother had died before Frannie was old enough to remember him, but she’d heard plenty of tales about him. According to her mother, Jeremiah had been cold-hearted, bigotted and controlling. Based on what she’d heard about him, Frannie wasn’t at all surprised that he was a suspect. Jeremiah’s hatred of Raven Hunter was well known.

      “We’d like to talk to your mom and your aunt again, to see if they remember anything else about the night Raven disappeared,” Rafe said gently.

      “I’m afraid Mom’s in Minnesota. Dad’s mother just had hip replacement surgery, and so Mom and Dad went to stay with her for a while while she recovers.”

      “When will they get back?” Gretchen asked, pulling a small notebook out of her tote bag.

      “I don’t know exactly. But I can give you a phone number where you can reach them.”

      “Thanks. I can take her statement over the phone.”

      Rafe glanced at Gretchen. “And if need be, we can get the police in Minnesota to take a deposition from them.”

      Frannie rounded the front desk, flipped through a Rolodex file and located the number. She wrote it on a slip of white paper. “Here it is.” She handed the number to Gretchen. “I’m afraid Mom won’t be much help to you, though. As she told Rafe, she was in Bozeman when Raven disappeared.”

      Gretchen tucked the number into a pocket of her folder. “Well, we’ll give her a call and get an official statement.”

      “What about Celeste?” the sheriff asked, leaning on the front desk. “Is she around?”

      “Yes. She’s upstairs, resting.”

      Rafe’s brow pulled together. “I thought she was always up at the crack of dawn.”

      “She usually is. But she hasn’t been herself lately. She hasn’t slept well for the last couple of weeks.”

      The sheriff glanced at Gretchen. “That’s about how long it’s been since we found Raven’s skeleton.”

      Gretchen nodded, then turned to Frannie. “Could I talk to your aunt?”

      “Of course.” Frannie motioned toward to the large silver coffee urn that sat on a sideboard in the hall, next to a stack of cups, spoons and cloth napkins. They always kept it filled in the mornings for the convenience of their guests. “Help yourselves to some coffee. I’ll go get her and we’ll join you in the living room.”

      Frannie climbed the winding staircase, headed down the long hall, then turned right at the end, where it intersected a shorter hallway. She stopped at the second door and knocked softly. “Aunt Celeste?”

      “Come in, dear.”

      She found Celeste sitting in a rocker by the window, her eyes closed. Frannie paused. She was used to seeing her aunt bustling around the house, full of energy and vitality, tending to everyone else’s needs. It was disturbing, seeing her so still in the middle of the day.

      “Aunt Celeste?” She hesitantly stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Rafe and a new detective are here. They want to ask you some more questions about the night Raven disappeared.”

      Celeste opened her eyes and gave a long, deep sigh that sounded as if it came from the depths of her soul. “Fine. I’ll talk to them.” She got up from the rocker. “But I’ve already told Rafe what I know.”

      The forlorn, troubled look on Celeste’s face touched Frannie’s heart.

      At least Rafe was an old family friend, she thought as she followed her aunt downstairs. That should make the interview process easier on Celeste.

      The sheriff stood as they entered the room.

      Celeste mustered a warm, hospitable smile and kissed him on the cheek. “Hello, Rafe, dear. It’s good to see you again.”

      “It’s a pleasure to see you, too, ma’am.”

      “How are your lovely wife and child?”

      The lawman’s face softened. “Raeanne’s just fine. And Skye keeps us plenty busy.”

      Celeste smiled. “I bet she does. You’ll have to bring her by.”

      “I’ll do that.” Rafe turned and gestured to Gretchen. “Celeste, I’d like you to meet Gretchen Neal, my newest detective. Gretchen, this is Celeste Monroe.”

      Celeste nodded. “It’s a pleasure.” She shook Gretchen’s hand, then waved her palm toward one of two mission-style sofas that faced each other in front of the massive stone fire place. “Please have a seat.”

      Rafe and Gretchen lowered themselves onto one of the sofas. Frannie sat beside Celeste on the opposite one, across the heavy oak coffee table.

      Rafe leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I suppose Frannie told you I’ve put Gretchen in charge of the investigation into Raven Hunter’s death.”

      “Yes.”

      “I’m sorry, Celeste, but she’d like to ask you some questions you and I have already discussed.”

      Gretchen pulled a small tape recorder out of her black leather tote bag. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

      Celeste looked questioningly at Frannie, her green eyes round. Frannie nodded encouragingly.