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The church had been ransacked. Overturned furniture, slashed pillows, strewn clothing . . . Orange juice and ketchup were smeared on the futon, and her jewelry supplies were scattered everywhere—her precious beads, the tools she’d just purchased, tangled lengths of wire.
Ted stood in the middle of the mess. “The sheriff’s on his way.”
The sheriff found no sign of forcible entry. When the subject of keys came up, Ted said he’d already put in a call to have the locks changed. As the sheriff advanced the theory that a vagrant had done the job, Meg knew she had to come clean about the message smeared on her bathroom mirror.
Ted exploded. “You’re just getting around to telling me? What the hell were you thinking? I wouldn’t have let you stay here another day.”
She just looked at him. He glared right back—no halo in sight.
The sheriff asked with a straight face if anybody held a grudge against her. She thought he was putting her on until she remembered he worked for the county and might not be tuned in to local gossip.
“Meg’s had some run-ins with a few people,” Ted said, “but I can’t imagine any of them doing this.”
The sheriff pulled out his notebook. “What people?”
She tried to pull herself together. “Basically anybody who likes Ted isn’t too fond of me.”
The sheriff shook his head. “That’s an awful lot of people. Could you narrow it down?”
“There’s not really much point in throwing out random names,” she said.
“You’re not accusing anybody. You’re giving me a list of people who have a grudge against you. I need your cooperation, Miz Koranda.”
She saw his point, but it didn’t feel right.
“Miz Koranda?”
She tried to muster the energy to begin. “Well, there’s . . .” She barely knew where to start. “Sunny Skipjack wants Ted for herself.” She gazed at the destruction around her and took a deep breath. “Then there’s Birdie Kittle, Zoey Daniels, Shelby Traveler, Kayla Garvin. Kayla’s father, Bruce. Maybe Emma Traveler, although I thought she’d come around.”
“Not a single one of them would tear the place up like this,” Ted said.
“Somebody did,” the sheriff replied, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “Go on, Miz Koranda.”
“All of Ted’s old girlfriends, especially after what happened at the luncheon today.” That involved a brief explanation, which Ted thoughtfully provided, along with his commentary on the cowardice of people who wanted to sneak around instead of being up front about their relationships.
“Anybody else?” The sheriff turned another page in his notebook.
“Skeet Cooper saw me mash one of Ted’s golf balls into the ground to keep Ted from winning his match against Spencer Skipjack. You should have seen the way he looked at me.”
“You should have seen the way I looked at you,” Ted said with disgust.
Meg picked at a hangnail.
“And?” The sheriff clicked his pen.
She pretended to look out the window. “Francesca Beaudine.”
“Now wait a minute!” Ted exclaimed.
“The sheriff wanted a list,” she retorted. “I’m giving him a list, not making accusations.” She turned back to the sheriff. “I saw Mrs. Beaudine a little more than an hour ago at her house, so it would have been very hard for her to have done this.”
“Hard, but not impossible,” the sheriff said.
“My mother did not trash this place,” Ted declared.
“I don’t know about Ted’s father,” Meg said. “He’s hard to read.”
Now it was the sheriff who puffed up with outrage. “The great Dallas Beaudine isn’t a vandal.”
