I wasn’t exactly looking forward to my meeting with my cantankerous older client, Myrtle Redbecker, but I didn’t wish her dead to get out of it.
But dead she was. Right smack in the middle of her kitchen floor, with the murder weapon, a cast iron skillet, lying beside her.
That had to hurt.
Things couldn’t get worse for old Myrtle, but they sure could for me, and then did. Since I’d found the body, I had to report it, which meant I’d have to speak to my ex, who just happened to be the Bramblett County Sheriff. I was not looking forward to that.
I’d promised Myrtle I’d sell her property to a developer, not an individual buyer, though I wasn’t quite sure why that was so important to her. I intended to keep that promise, and as I worked toward that goal, I soon discovered the killer would do anything to make sure I wasn’t successful.