A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

didn’t have to dodge a downpour on the way back but returning for an umbrella was out of the question. Jo kept an eye out for Wyn, but, disappointingly, he was nowhere in sight. How busy could a small island cop be, for goodness sake? Then she chastised herself. Victor had been shot on the island.

Up and down the main street, carved pumpkins, witches, and skeletons made out of Bakelite decorated window displays from the Stone Ground Bakery, to the post office, to the Cobblestone Café.

In a blink, her path was blocked in front of the café. Frizzle let out a low growl and she instinctively reached for his collar.

“Good afternoon, Miss Weatherford.” Reverend Knox’s monotone vocalization was not reserved for just sermons and funerals. His cadaverously thin frame was tall and imposing. Jo had not regularly attended services on the island for years, and his deep-set eyes accused her of that negligence, or was it outright sin?

“Hello, Reverend.”

“As a leader of this fine community,” he said in his raspy tenor. “I feel it is my God-given duty to advise you against spending an inordinate amount of time with Wyndel Smith, Miss Weatherford.”

Jo gasped, too stunned to speak.

“Yes, my dear, I saw him take your hand at the graveside service for Mr. Montgomery the other day. It was positively shameless. I’m certain your uncle would say the same. Smith is a dangerous man. A very dangerous man.” His bony, uncovered hand took hers in an unrelenting grasp.

Frizzle’s growl turned menacing and vibrated the air, but the clergyman held fast despite her not-so-subtle attempt to escape his grip. “My uncle was being buried, sir, at that moment,” she said through clenched teeth. Her hand grew damp and clammy, as panic feathered her senses—her instinct to fight or flee. Reverend Knox needed to let go before she had an anxiety attack right there on Main Street, or before she let go of Frizzle and encouraged his attack on the good reverend.

Knox squeezed her hand. “Take heed, Miss Weatherford. He killed my Penny.”

Panic seized her ability to speak rationally. Jo had to quell her urge to scream. “I’m sorry about your daughter, sir. So very sorry.” She tugged at her hand again, this time not so gently. It came away with a slight jerk.

He stepped back.

“Have a good day, sir.” She looked down at Frizzle. “Stay here a minute, boy.” She opened the door to the café and slipped in before either dog or man could further delay her.

The heat inside hit Jo with a blast and was almost overwhelming after the cold wind chafing her cheeks. She was chilled to the bone. She shivered beneath her heavy coat.

“Josie! Get in here. Heck, you might as well bring that hound in too.” Melinda met her just inside, widened the door and invited Frizzle in. He didn’t hesitate.

A genuine smile filled Jo. Melinda was one of those individuals who had never met a stranger. She’d befriended Jo that first summer she and her sisters had come to live with Victor and Mary.

“Hey, hon. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday at the manor. I have a coffee cup with your name on it. Sit anywhere. As you can see, all the townsfolk are busy preparing for Halloween festivities, which does not include the Cobblestone.”

Jo shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a brass coat tree near the door. “Thank you, coffee would be great.”

Frizzle followed her to a booth near the windows.

She slid into the seat and trained her gaze to the street outside while Frizzle wriggled his large body beneath the two poles holding up the table.

Two young children prematurely dressed as goblins clung to their mother’s hand, jumping up and down from an early onslaught of candy they’d likely wheedled out of her. A small smile touched her at the sight.

“I saw the mighty reverend waylay you outside. You okay? That man gives me the heebie-jeebies. I gotta tell you.”

Jo flashed her a smile, silently agreeing, but didn’t respond, looking again out the window. Right behind the kids, a man strolled down the street, his mud-colored fedora angled low on his brow, his brown tweed suit, immaculate, his tie straight. Not Wyn. She pulled her gaze away.

Porcelain on the wood tabletop jarred her attention to Melinda who was studying her with an intensity Jo usually shied from. “You sure, you’re okay, Jo?”

“It’s been…stressful, of course. How could it not be? Tell me. How is business?”

“Well, it’s slow for a Saturday afternoon, that’s for sure. Usually, we have a few stragglers who’ve come in on the ferry. But with Halloween tomorrow, it appears all the parents are busy making other plans.”

The bell over the door jangled.

“Mm. mm. ’Scuse me a minute, hon.” She turned to the newcomer. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Josephine—oh, there you are.”

“Julius? I’d heard you were on the island. What are you doing here?”

“To see you, of course. May I join you?” He slid in across from her without waiting for a response.

A growl emanated from under the table.

“What the hell?” He leaned back to peer underneath.

Jo tipped an innocent grin at him. “That’s Frizzle.”

He frowned. “What’s a dog doing in a restaurant?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Never mind. What am I thinking? I’m sorry for your loss, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? Too familiar. Not okay. “Thank you,” she murmured narrowing her eyes on him.

“Cup of coffee, black,” he said, his gaze never wavering from Jo. “You left the city before we could talk.”

“I had a death in the family.”

“Right, yeah. Of course.” He fumbled over his words. He glanced up at Melinda. “I thought I asked for coffee.”

Heat crawled up Jo’s neck as Melinda stomped away. She hadn’t remembered him being so condescending. “Don’t talk to her like that.” Jo poured sugar in her coffee, added milk and stirred.

His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “What do you mean?”

Was he serious? She cut her gaze on him, then let out a