Put silk on a goat and it is still a goat.
~ Irish Saying
Brianna awoke to Plato’s animated face licking her nose. With twinkling eyes, he gave two greeting barks right above her ears. Ouch.
She sat up in her own bed. Wait, how had she gotten home last night? She’d fallen asleep listening to Riordan play. Yet here she was, back at home. Had it been a dream after all?
Surely, it had been. She stretched her legs, lifted her arms above her head, and yawned. Her muscles felt relaxed, every part of her reeling with energy—as if Mother Nature had cradled her through the night.
“Morning, Plato.” She rubbed his ears and noticed something white dangled from his collar. A note? She pulled it open and held her breath. In ornate script were the words: “Bí mar ghuth chan mar mhacalla.”
“Be a voice, not an echo,” she whispered. Last night hadn’t been a dream.
Thumping noises echoed from the kitchen. What was going on?
She sat up to get dressed, but she already was. She still had on the clothes from last night.
When she reached the kitchen, Brianna saw Virginia. “What’s going on?”
“Someone’s at your door,” Virginia whispered.
Had they been banging on the door loud enough to wake Brianna up? She looked through the peephole. Holy shit. Begley?
She turned around. James’s kind face contorted and glowered. He was ready to rumble. “Stay calm,” she whispered. “I’m going to set up my phone recorder.” She turned on the app and hid her smart phone behind a lamp before she opened the door.
“Begley, what are you doing here?”
“Well, good morning to you, too.”
The jerk wanted to lecture her on manners? After everything? Before she’d had her morning coffee?
“Morning,” she said, deliberately omitting the “good” from her reply. “What can I do for you?”
He pushed his way into the living room. “I came by with several rose bushes, ready to plant.”
He owned the place, but if he was so manners conscious, why not wait to be invited in?
He stood in the center of the living room. Behind him, Virginia clutched a large pot of grits, ready and aimed at his head. Brianna shook her head, needing Virginia to calm down. “Assault by grits” was not how she wanted to get kicked out of her rental agreement. Besides, she doubted it would work.
After being fired from her job, Brianna wanted to get something incriminating—on tape—of Begley’s corruption. The best way to achieve that was to play his manners game.
“Roses would be nice,” she said. “I have some work to do in here, however. Why don’t I get you a soda since you’ll remain outside?”
The question wasn’t meant to be an inquiry. It was a hint for him to get the hell out of her house. Or the house she rented from him.
“I have a right to inspect my properties, inside and out,” he said, glaring at her.
“And I have tenants’ rights. You have to give notice.”
Begley scowled. “Tell me what you did with Riordan’s body. I know you tried to get Bobby Ray Canters’s body too.”
“I don’t work at the funeral home anymore. Edwin fired me. Perhaps you should talk to him.”
Begley’s cool eyes held a restrained anger, a talent he’d obviously harnessed over the years. “Don’t test me, girlie. You know exactly where that body is.”
She didn’t shrink back. She refused to give Begley the satisfaction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You broke into my office, and I never called the cops. Don’t get any ideas.”
“I was wrong,” she said. “But I didn’t steal anything. I only looked at your files because I wanted to confirm what I suspected. You’ve been having people killed for their property.”
“How ludicrous,” Begley said with arrogance.
“Why wasn’t there an autopsy done on Riordan’s body?”
Begley smirked. “Because I own the cops. Have more secrets on them than J. Edgar Hoover had on everyone.”
Please let the recorder still be working. She couldn’t go to the local cops, but perhaps she could go to the feds or the press. Or E. F. Hutton. When he talked, people listened, right? Or someone who could expose Begley for the greedy coward he was.
“So you bribed the cops, Lieutenant Grainger, to cover up Riordan’s death, bypassing the autopsy?”
Begley smiled, his arrogant eyes scorching her. “You’re not so dumb, for a damn Yankee.”
Knowing his stupidity was being recorded, she smiled and used her best Southern accent. “Why, thank you.”
Virginia lurked in the corner. “Keep your day job,” she mouthed. Brianna grinned. She’d never perfect the accent for Virginia, but that was okay. She’d help them get justice.
“I’m going to give you three seconds to tell me where that body is,” Begley said.
“Kids pull pranks in this town,” she said. “Anyone could’ve taken it. I need you to leave. Now.”
“Hold on a damn minute—”
Plato leapt out of his crated area—thanks to Amy—and plopped his furry self between her and Begley. While shelties only grew to knee height, in that moment, Plato could’ve been a Great Dane. He ripped out brief, sharp barks easily heard by neighbors.
Brianna stepped closer, eyeing Begley. “Good point, Plato. I believe he needs to leave.”
Begley didn’t flinch. Plato jumped, his front paws thumping into Begley’s bad knee. “Ow! Damn it, stupid dog!”
“Leave Plato alone. It’s bad manners for such a Southern gentleman. Perhaps your family lied about their heritage? Maybe you’re related to Sherman?”
“Bitch,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Get out.” She ushered him to the front door without another word.
In the open doorway, Begley said, “You sure you don’t have something to tell me?”
“Actually, yes I do. I hope you never, ever find Riordan O’Shea’s body, considering you had him killed.”
“What the—”
“And you have yourself a good day now,” she said in her best Southern tone, the kind Begley always used for his exiting quote.
She slammed the door and went to check the recording. If it had picked up their conversation, she could nail Begley to the wall.