Page 39 of Hello, Summer
Skelly mouthed a mute “Thanks.” He took his mother’s arm and gently turned her back toward the sidewalk. “Let’s go home. Okay? I can’t wait to see what you fixed for dinner.”
“Pot roast! Your favorite,” June said cheerfully. “And cherry pie.”
They were halfway down the sidewalk. “Thanks, Conley. I’ll bring the blanket back tomorrow.” Skelly’s voice floated in the warm evening air.
She went back inside and tried to resume her research on Symmes Robinette. Many of the references to Robinette focused on his politicallife, his campaigns, and his accomplishments. There was precious little about his life back in his home district in Silver Bay.
She picked up her phone and hesitated. It was late; maybe her sister was in bed. She texted instead.
Hey, Gray. Doing research for the obit on Robinette. Can’t find any online articles fromThe Beacon.Help.
Her phone rang as soon as she’d finished sending the text.
“Hey. Where are you?” Grayson asked. Conley could hear the clatter of glassware and voices in the background. Maybe a television too.
“I’m in town at G’mama’s house. There’s no Wi-Fi at the beach. Where are you?”
“No place special. You’re not gonna find any online articles from theBeacon.”
“We’re not digitized?”
“No, we’re not digitized. In case you haven’t noticed, this is a small-town weekly. If you want to search the back issues for stories on Robinette, you’ll have to go over to the office and look through the bound volumes.”
“Ugh. That’ll take forever. I don’t even know what I’m really looking for. So I’m guessing there’s no index either, right?”
“Nope.” Grayson sounded amused that she would even ask. “Anything specific you’re looking for?”
“Everything. Local color. Family. Hey, did you know Symmes Robinette was married before?”
“Before what?”
“Before Vanessa, who, by the way, is probably twenty years younger than the late congressman.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask G’mama. She’s always up on all the latest dirt. Or better yet, get with Rowena.”
“Ugh. Rowena. Say, Gray, what do you know about the sheriff over in Bronson County?”
“Merle? He’s only been in office a couple years. But he seems okay. He’s black, you know.”
“So?”
“So it might not be newsworthy in Atlanta, but it is around here.”
“Do you know him?”
“Sort of. We’re in Rotary together.”
“Good. Call him up first thing in the morning and ask him to give your new star reporter a phone call. His deputy isn’t what I’d call helpful.”
“What do you want to talk to him about?”
Conley rolled her eyes in frustration. “Symmes Robinette. Duh. The accident was in your sheriff buddy’s jurisdiction. I need to know why Symmes was thirty miles from his ritzy oceanfront home at three in the morning, and I need to know the official cause of death.”
“Call me stupid, but isn’t his death gonna be from being burned alive in a car wreck?”
Youarestupid,Conley thought. “We don’t know that. There were no other cars around. I want to know what caused the wreck and whether he was alive when the fire started.”
“Okay, yeah. That makes sense,” Grayson said.
