It's Murder at the Buy-Right

32

 It was 6:30 in the morning. A vampire was pounding down her door.

"I'm coming! Hold your horses! Geez! The sun's not even up yet!"

She fumbled with the lock and dead bolt.

"Monroe Willis! Where's the sense God gave you! What is it! It's too early for company!"

Monroe was pale. There were dark circles under his eyes. He'd been up all night.

"Come inside," she said. "What's wrong? You look like something the cat drug up."

"Feel like it, too," Monroe said.

"Somebody died! Oh, Lord. It's not Iggi, is it? Vern's had a wreck, ain't he? Deke's taken a turn. Oh, my Lord! He's dead!"

"No," said the deputy. "Nothing like that."

"The store didn't burn down, did it?"

"'Course not. What made you say that?"

"I dunno. Here, I'll make us a pot of really strong coffee. Nothing sets things right like a cup of java so black and strong it eats the bowl of the spoon off like acid!"

"Has anybody called you, Daisy Ann?"

"No. Why? If you don't spill the beans quick, Monroe Willis, I'm going to take this cast iron frying pan and beat them out of you."

"Thanks," Monroe said, taking the steaming cup from Daisy Ann. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not thinking too clearly. Eades told me about the trouble at the store."

"It's nothing. Just some hot head who's election fever got a bit out of hand. Henry Utiker helped me patch up the broken window."

"Nothing else has happened, has it? You haven't found anything stolen? Anything weird?"

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"Deke's house was torched last night."