40
Ripley
It doesn’t take longfor the news to spread like wildfire.Boone and I left a restaurant a few hours later, and the cameras were flashing along with the questions being tossed at us.Instead of answering, I waved and climbed into the back of the SUV Anthony drove us in, expecting this kind of reaction.
My phone immediately started going nuts too.It seemed that every single person I’ve ever known has something to say to me now that I’msomebody.After I told Hope the ink was dry on the contract, I didn’t answer any calls.Hope was thrilled for me, but sad that I was leaving the White Horse, although she did extend an invitation for me to come back and perform anytime I want.
Even her making the offer was surreal.
I turn my phone off for the rest of the night, and when I turn it on in the morning, I immediately wish I hadn’t.Seventeen new voice mails.
File those undernope, not happening.
Boone and I are making breakfast in the kitchen after an amazing morning of shutting out the world when Anthony pokes his head inside the house.
“Boss, I got a guy out at the gate who’s looking to talk to Ms.Fischer.”
I close the fridge after retrieving a carton of orange juice.“A reporter?”I ask, which is just another indication of how much my life has changed overnight.Holly was absolutely right about that.
Anthony shakes his head and holds out a card.“Says he’s a private investigator.”
That’s when I remember the mortgage Pop took out on the Fishbowl to hire a PI.
Boone grabs the card and brings it over to me.
Morton Twining
Private Investigator
Ilook to Boone.“He has to be the one investigating Mama’s murder.”
“You want to talk to him?”
Both men are watching me as I weigh the question.Finally, I reply.
“I want to put the past behind me so I can move on.Let it go.If he’s figured something out, then I want to know.”
“It’s totally up to you, sugar.”
I give Anthony a nod.“Let him in.”
“Will do, boss lady.”
Anthony shuts the door behind him, and Boone glances down at my bare legs.
“You might want to find some pants first.”
Morton Twining is quite possiblythe most unassuming man I’ve ever met.He can’t be more than an inch taller than me, and although his frame isn’t frail, it’s definitely not bulky.His light brown hair is thin on top, and his khaki-colored jacket conceals a red-and-blue plaid shirt tucked into khaki pants.
He’s very ...blah.
Once we’re seated in the living room, introductions out of the way, Mr.Twining asks his first question.
“Did you publish any songs under your name about twenty years ago, Ms.Fischer?”
What the hell?
“Excuse me?”Boone stiffens on the couch beside me.