LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Four

      She should be tired. Bone weary after the night’s events. Instead, Harper tossed underneath the covers. Even when she wasn’t consciously listening for an out-of-place sound, her brain remained on high alert. So far, coming home hadn’t eradicated her fear of old ghosts and things that went bump in the night. Yet, she owed it to herself to stay and confront the memories head-on. With each bit of clothing donated or trash discarded, with the stripping away of each material possession tied to the house, Harper hoped to sweep away the remaining cobwebs of mystery and sadness.

      Sighing, she admitted defeat. No matter how much she needed eight hours of shut-eye, sleep eluded her. Experience taught her that when all else failed—a hot bath, yoga, warm milk and a misting diffuser of lavender essential oil—the best remedy was to read the most boring material available. Harper climbed out of bed, strolled to her mom’s bedroom and emptied out a drawerful of old papers from her desk. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, get rid of outdated paperwork and read until her eyes became so blurry she’d be forced to close them and drift off to never-never land.

      She carried a stack of papers to the bed, fluffed a pillow behind her back and dug in. Outdated checks, old warranties and instruction manuals—Mom was clearly old-school and didn’t trust keeping records on a computer. But two-thirds of the way through the stack, an official government record caught her attention.

      Her breath caught at the heading: Autopsy Report of Presley Lee Catlett. The yellowed sheet of paper shook beneath her trembling fingers as she read on. “Cause of death: Asphyxiation from severe spinal cord injury at the fourth cervical vertebra.” Paragraphs of further medical description continued, describing the damaged tissue on the base of Presley’s skull and trauma to internal organs, all consistent with smoke asphyxiation. “Other findings: Deceased was nine weeks pregnant. Signed, Dr. Thomas J. Lumpkin, Pathologist.”

      Pregnant? In stunned disbelief, Harper slapped the report against her thighs. “Presley was pregnant?” she squeaked in the silent room, as if someone was nearby and could respond. Why hadn’t her mother ever mentioned it? Harper stood and paced, running a hand through her tousled hair. She’d imagined herself all cried out years ago, but a fresh well of grief burst inside. Nine weeks, so her sister had to have known about her condition before her unexpected death.

      And so had Mom. Yet she’d never mentioned a word of it to Harper. Why not? Did she imagine shielding her from the news would make her sister’s death any less painful?

      Who else knew about this? Did the biological father know? Harper abruptly stopped pacing, recalling Presley’s old boyfriend, Allen Spencer. They’d broken up days before Presley’s accident. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now she couldn’t help wondering. Did Allen break up with Presley when, or if, she told him about the pregnancy?

      A sliver of muted light shone through the lace curtain. Another day dawning. And yes, learning about the pregnancy made Presley’s early death even more tragic.

      Would Presley have kept the baby? Harper rather thought her sister was the kind of girl who would do just that. And maybe, just maybe, that had enraged her ex-boyfriend. Maybe even enough to kill her.

      Harper crawled back in bed and rubbed her temples. Allen was no killer. The man was a well-respected preacher now, had been for many years. Last she’d heard, he was married with three kids. Besides, whatever she’d seen or not seen that night, it certainly wasn’t Allen.

      She had to get out of the suddenly stifling house. The only place open this early in the morning would be the Dixie Diner, Mom’s old place of employment. A chocolate crème–filled doughnut and a vanilla latte would provide a welcome sugary distraction. On a whim, Harper whipped out her cell phone and texted Kimber to see if her old friend had time to join her calorie fest.

      She was in luck. Kimber agreed to meet her there in thirty minutes.