In High Cotton Read online

  In High Cotton

  The G Team Series, Book 3

  Nancy Naigle

  Kelsey Browning

  Crossroads Publishing House

  Contents

  In High Cotton

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Books in the Series

  Excerpt from Book 4, Under the Gun

  Also by Kelsey Browning

  Also by Nancy Naigle

  About the Authors

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  In High Cotton

  When a tree topples over onto Miss Lillian’s prized 1948 Tucker Torpedo, the grannies are once again scrambling for money and keeping Lil in the dark. Lucky for them, they have their choice of two cases, but which to take—a suspected art forgery or mysteriously disappearing trash from the county landfill?

  As usual, things aren’t exactly as they first seem, and the grannies soon find themselves going undercover and dumpster diving to track down both bad guys. And now that Lil has scored an unexpected early release from prison, the grannies have more at stake than ever.

  Will they find the culprits in time to repair the Tucker before Lil gets home, or will she arrive and unravel their lies?

  This book is dedicated to Nancy’s mom, Bettie, who reminds us to rest when we work too late, pours the wine when we’re working from NanLand, watches the dogs when we work from the cabin, and reads every single version of these stories over and over and over again.

  Thanks for your unlimited confidence in the two of us.

  And for being our biggest fan.

  Chapter 1

  Summer Haven’s front doorbell rang in rapid-fire succession, making Sera freeze mid-stretch into a janu sirsasana pose on the kitchen floor. She glanced over at Maggie and Abby Ruth sitting at the farm table with Sheriff Teague Castro. “Were we expecting anyone?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Maggie straightened her dark ponytail and tucked her appliquéd shirt into her pants.

  “So help me.” Abby Ruth’s tone was as sharp as the creases on her trademark slim jeans. “If it’s Angelina Broussard coming around to stir up more trouble, I’m gonna wring that woman’s neck.”

  Teague’s voice dry, he said, “Aunt Bibi, it’s not smart to plan a murder right in front of the sheriff.”

  “No offense,” she said. “But you’re like family, and you know what a pain that woman is. Don’t you think I could get off on an insanity charge?”

  Teague shook his head, obviously not daring to step into that conversation, especially not with the mother of his dream girl.

  Sera hopped to her feet. “I’ll get it.” To forestall violence against the woman who had final say over Summer Haven remaining on the historic register, Sera raced for the foyer, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. She flung open the door and there stood Hollis Dooley with that stinky hound dog of his.

  The man was a hundred and sixteen if he was a day. Bundled up in a coat that made him look like a cross between a Ninja Turtle and the Michelin Man, Hollis leaned on his silver walker. Goodness, it wasn’t that cold outside. Here at the end of March, the shrubs had already taken the hint that spring was around the corner, displaying buds and tender greens so welcome after the cold of winter. Still, his false teeth were chattering.

  “Hi, Hollis.” Sera waited for him to say something, but he just stood there staring at her. Could he be lost? “What are you doing here? They didn’t miss your Meals on Wheels delivery again, did they?” She had her suspicions he was either sleeping through his doorbell or simply couldn’t hear it anymore.

  “No. Somethin’ else altogether,” he said.

  She leaned out the front door and looked around. No sign of a car anywhere. “Did you walk?”

  Hollis rubbed his gloved hands together. “It’s cold as a witch’s tit out here. You gonna invite me in or not?” He nudged her foot with his walker, jostling his old bloodhound, Ritter, in the process. Poor Ritter wasn’t getting along any faster than his master. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was walking who.

  “Of course.” Sera stepped back and opened the door wide enough for him to navigate.

  But why was Hollis Dooley paying them a visit? He hadn’t been out to Summer Haven since the historic preservation committee’s inspection, and even then he hadn’t been much help, mainly sitting in the parlor drinking iced tea while Angelina checked the place from top to bottom, her eagle eyes missing nothing.

  “You got a fire going? Thinking I could get warmed up was the only thing keeping me walking up that endless driveway.” Hollis hobbled in with a thump, thump, thump.

  Sera took Ritter’s leash and patted the old boy on the head. “Why in the world are you walking?”

  “My damned kids said it was too dangerous for me to be driving my car. They took the keys to my Bonneville. 1967. They don’t make ’em like that no more. Now I gotta catch that damned give-a-senior-a-ride bus to get to my job. Pain in the ass is what it is.” His face went slack for a moment. Then he said, “What about that fire?”

  “No fire today, but we’re all back in the kitchen where it’s nice and toasty. I’ve been baking all morning. Whole wheat prune-bran muffins.”

  His face scrunched up. “Sounds like something my colon sure don’t need. You got coffee?” He aimed his walker toward the kitchen as if he’d been there a hundred times. Maybe he had.

  Sera didn’t know much about who’d been a frequent visitor at Summer Haven before she landed here in Georgia and became roommates with Maggie and Abby Ruth. Unfortunately, Lillian Summer Fairview, the woman who owned this stately old money pit, wasn’t in residence. Sera and the others had to keep Lil’s true whereabouts on the down-low because her current address was Walter Stiles Federal Prison Camp. Not something Lil wanted the good people of Summer Shoals to know.

  “Coffee? That I can do.” Sera matched her steps to Hollis’ and together, they slowly made their way toward the back of the house. “It’s a pleasure to have you visit.”

  “No pleasure,” he grumbled. “I need some help. There’s problems. Lots of problems.”

  “Are you watching the news again?” she asked. “You shouldn’t. It’s a real downer. Focus on the positive, Hollis. That’s what I always say.”

  “Well, that’s a little hard to do when people are up to no good right in your own backyard. Don’t need the news to remind me of that.”

  “Your own backyard?” Sera stood back to let him shuffle into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

  When Hollis saw Teague sitting at the farm table with Abby Ruth and Maggie, he stopped in his tracks. The old guy pierced Sera with an accusing glare. “You didn’t tell me you had company.”

  You didn’t ask. Just kind of barged right in. “The more the merrier.” She aimed a cheery smile in his direction, then headed for the coffeemaker. “Come on in. Sit and tell us about all these problems.”

  Hollis didn’t budge, just mumbled, “I’ll come back another time. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Then you should’ve called before you showed up,” Abby Ruth
said under her breath.

  The old man let out a sigh. “Miss Sera, could I talk to you for a moment in private?” He lifted the walker and pivoted, bumping the kitchen counter and jostling one of Lil’s precious Depression era vases. Sera jumped to catch it before it toppled to the floor. The collective inhale from the other three people in the room carried enough force to nearly suck Hollis back into the kitchen. But he clomped out the way he’d come in.

  “Maybe he’s going to ask you on a date,” Abby Ruth said with an exaggerated wink.

  “Real funny,” Sera whispered. “Stop it.” She slapped her thigh and Ritter moseyed alongside her.

  In the hallway, Hollis fidgeted with his jacket zipper. Zip. Halfway up. Zup. Halfway down. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come, but there’s something rotten up at the landfill.”

  Probably banana peels and moldy bread, as Hollis would well know since he worked there a few times each week, but Sera just cocked her head and listened to Hollis.

  “But if I tell the sheriff I noticed trash is missing, he’ll think I’m losing my mental faculties.”

  “Maybe more people are finally recycling around here.” About time. Smalls towns in Georgia certainly lagged behind California in their eco-friendliness. “That’s a good thing, Hollis. It shouldn’t worry you.”

  “No. It’s not like that. You know we have a spot for the recyclables. Didn’t need it before you happened into town. But I know my trash, and someone’s messing with it.”

  Strange that Hollis would be so possessive of garbage, but Sera couldn’t argue with a man who was dedicated to his work. Then again, if someone was making an effort to reuse other people’s castoffs, he should be applauded. But she couldn’t brush off Hollis’ concerns. “What do you think they’re doing with the trash? And really, does it matter?”

  He snatched the leash from Sera’s hand. “I shouldn’t have come. You don’t understand.”

  She placed a hand on his arm, thin and frail even under his puffy coat. “Tell me how I can help.”

  “I know you and your friends have tracked down a couple of no-good criminal types lately.”

  “And you want us to find the person responsible for your missing trash?”

  His chin angled up, and his dentures clacked together. “Stealing is stealing. Plus, they cut the fence, and that’s destruction of public property. If someone’s going to the trouble to break into the dump and steal, don’t you think that means something is wrong?”

  Hmm. Missing trash was one thing, but a damaged fence seemed more serious. As she considered the possibility of taking on another investigation, excitement buzzed under her skin. “I guess you have a point. But we’re not true detectives, you know.”

  “You ever heard of citizen’s arrest? It’s your neighborly duty to look into this. We don’t catch this yahoo, these thefts could lead to more dangerous stuff. I’ve seen those Criminal Minds shows. I think they call it escalation. Yeah, today they’ll rip off Copenhagen cans and tomorrow it’ll be cars. Then armed robbery!”

  “I can’t speak for Maggie and Abby Ruth…” But why couldn’t she? They’d all agreed these cases made them feel more alive than ever. Besides, she didn’t know how much longer she’d be at Summer Haven. At some point, she needed to turn around and face her real life. The life no one in this town knew a thing about.

  But before then, she desperately wanted one last escapade with the two women who’d become her best friends in the world. “Why us?”

  “Because y’all can be what they call covert. I don’t need neither the sheriff or my kids catching wind of all this.”

  “But—”

  “But nothin’. The sheriff would think I was making a mountain outta a mold hill—” he chuckled at his own joke, “—and my kids are looking for any reason to throw my keister in the old folks’ home. And I sure as hell ain’t ready to play canasta and eat applesauce all damned day. Besides, they don’t ’low no pets. Where would poor ol’ Ritter go? I can pay cash money.” His droopy eyes pleaded with her. How could she say no?

  But with Hollis on Social Security and Meals on Wheels, he sure couldn’t afford to pay them much. And they were always strapped for funds to keep up with Summer Haven’s maintenance. Then again, investigating this for Hollis wasn’t really about the money. It was about the adventure. “We’ll do it.”

  His face softened, not at all like the old curmudgeon she’d come to know. “Thank you, Sera. I knew you’d be the one to understand.” He took an envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it in her hand. A surprisingly thick envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “Payment in advance.”

  Sera slid her finger under the flap, but Hollis put his gnarled hand over hers.

  “When you see what’s inside, you’ll see I’m serious as a four-alarm fire about all this.” He held a finger to his lips. “Don’t forget, not a peep to anyone. I don’t need the sheriff or my meddling kids up in my bin’ness.”

  Lil practically skipped across the prison camp’s courtyard toward the cottage she shared with Big Martha, one of the toughest broads at Walter Stiles Prison Camp. After what the warden had just told Lil, she wanted to dance around and hug every one of the women in this place. Even the mean ones.

  “Hey there, Grammy Lil,” one of Martha’s protégés called out. “What’re you grinnin’ about? The cafeteria serving hot dogs for lunch today?”

  Oh, her news was so much better than questionable franks and white buns. But she didn’t want rumors to start swirling around the prison before she had a chance to talk with her roommate. Martha might be a bit rough around the edges, but over the past few months, she and Lil had become friends. A totally unlikely friendship since when Lil first arrived Martha had been a big ol’ bully. “I’m just happy to see the sun shining.”

  “Amen to that, sister.”

  And it was a beautiful day—a little cool still, but with soft blue skies and clouds Lil felt she could float away on—full of beautiful news. She hummed a lilting tune, did a grapevine move up the cottage stairs, and cha-cha-chaed across the threshold.

  Martha was reclining on her bed, flipping through the latest copy of Redbook magazine. That woman had a way of getting her hands on anything her heart desired—nail polish, makeup and magazines. Admittedly, she was a good gal to know. “Martha,” Lil sang, “I have some good news.”

  “Hot dogs for lunch?”

  Lord, if she could accomplish one more thing before she left federal prison, it would be to teach these women to appreciate something more sophisticated than a twelve-year-old’s diet. “Better.”

  “Not when they serve them with the chili and cheese,” Martha said without looking up. “That’s hard to beat.”

  Lil flounced down on her bed, her bottom bouncing on the thin mattress. Today, even the feel of metal springs poking her in the behind couldn’t get her down. “I just came from the warden’s office.”

  Martha glanced up, her eyes sharp. “Don’t tell me she’s tapping you for another project.”

  Since Lil had voluntarily surrendered herself into the kind keeping of the federal prison system nine months ago, Warden Proctor had found several ways to utilize her refined background. Lil had taught an etiquette course and helped impress a crew of BOP suits so they’d keep Walter Stiles’ doors open. “Not at the moment, but she did tell me I’d be getting my good conduct days at the end of the year. If I keep it up, I could be out of here in just a few more months.”

  “Oh.” Martha’s tone was flat and she looked back down at her magazine. “And here I thought you had something worth getting all excited about.”

  The helium filling Lil’s chest eked out so fast, she was surprised it didn’t make a tooting sound. “You don’t think early release is worth a little excitement?”

  Martha lifted a shoulder. “At your age, you could probably be out of here next week.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You really had an idiot for an attorney, didn’t you?”
>
  “I saw no need for legal help when it was obvious I was guilty. Why waste any more of the taxpayers’ money?” After all, she’d already “borrowed” money from the Social Security system to pay for her husband’s funeral. Why toss compound interest on top of an already substantial principal?

  “I will never understand you, Miss H&M.”

  Over the past few months, Martha’s nickname for her, Miss High & Mighty, had become endearing. But now it grated on her last nerve. Lil’s mouth drew tight, her disappointment carrying the taste of lemon. “Perhaps they are serving hot dogs and your dining experience will be more satisfying than my news.”

  “Lord have mercy. If there was a snooty category in the Olympics, you’d be a gold medalist for sure.” Martha huffed and tossed her magazine aside. “But someone’s gotta look out for the high and mighties of the world. Guess it might as well be me. How’s your arthritis treating you? I noticed you messing with your hands a lot lately.”

  “It’s fine.” Without thinking, Lil rubbed her thumb against the knuckles on her opposite hand. “Well, actually it’s always worse in the winter. I suspect everyone’s joints will feel better once spring blooms fully.”

  She and Martha shared nicer quarters than the women who lived in the pods inside the main building. But one January night when the Georgia temperatures dropped well below freezing, she’d discovered the cottage’s downside. A building made from cinderblock was colder than a well digger’s boots, and this darned thing was drafty.