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Murdoch had completely commiserated.
This woman had a very, very sideways-causing smile, too.
“Tell me something before you take off—under the speed limit, as we gotta set good examples for the civilians, you know—are you related to Sheriff Zoey Daviess or the governor’s wife, Ariella Deane, by any chance?”
She shot him another look. Surprised, and a bit confused. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”
“Might try looking closely at the governor’s pretty lady. She could be your younger sister.”
“Not likely. I have a younger sister. She’d make mincemeat out of a man like the governor. Send him running in terror. All while she rides around him ninety miles an hour on a damned skateboard—at twenty-five. I’m the sane one of my sisters, after all.”
“I’m sure you are. Have a nice day. And don’t drive so fast next time. Get too many of these ticket things, they’ll take your license and give you a skateboard with IA printed on it next, you know.”
“Yeah, Sheriff, I’ve heard it before.”
“Somehow, I suspected you had. See you around, Coleson. See you around.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will. Eventually.”
Murdoch was going to do some digging. He wasn’t stupid. There wassomethingabout those Colesons. He was going to figure them out.
It was that insatiable curiosity, after all.
38
Bonnie was waitingat the front door of the home in Hughes Heights she’d inherited when her ex-father-in-law had passed away. She had just gotten little Ember to sleep, after giving her a bottle her mama had left for her. Ember’s big sister Frankie slept now, too, curled up in front ofScraggle-Popps.
They were spending the day with Grandma.
Bonnie and her girls had been there for a little under ten months now, but the huge house didn’tfullyfeel like home yet. She wanted all of the kids to feel at home there, too.
It was Grandma’s house, now.
It was just so big.
She had raised ten girls in a four-bedroom farmhouse. They’d been tripping over each other from the very beginning. Together. She’d stuck poor, long-suffering Marcia in the attic. Norman had moved in after he and Marcia had married, until they’d been able to save up a down payment for a house a quarter of a mile away. He’d spent his weekends repairing Bonnie’s house when he could. He and Nick, after Nick had joined the family.
Now her old house was Marcia and Norman’s.
They’d taken over the farmhouse when she’d moved here. She’d wanted it to stay in the family. Marcia and Norman had four children. The house that had sheltered her girls now sheltered her sister’s children.
Bonnie liked the continuity of that.
Otis had purchased this home in Texas as an investment years ago. He’d talked about moving home to his native Finley Creek more times than she could count, but he had built his empire in southern Oklahoma. And then when the girls had come along, he’d not wanted to disrupt their lives more than they already had been after the losses of their parents.
To them, he had been Grandpa. And he had loved it. Loved them. She had adored him for that. He’d wanted, needed, a family—Bonnie and the girls had become it. He’d wanted the girls to have the history that circumstances had taken from their family long before the girls had even been born.
Otis had left Bonnie and the girls everything he had worked for his entire life. With very clear instructions.
She’d packed up the girls who’d wanted to come, or who didn’t have other ties, almost ten months ago. And they’d moved into this mansion together.
It was a different world in Hughes Heights. No denying that.
She opened the door and watched her sister walking up the steps. Heather was ticked off about something. Her sister had a bit of a fiery temper. But she was so beautiful, with a sweet and generous soul she hid behind her tough TSP exterior.
Bonnie hugged her. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Speeding ticket. Some damned sheriff with too much time on his hands pulled me over outside of Garrity on my way back.”
