“And did you?”
“Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “But it wasn’t what I expected.”
He looked so somber that she couldn’t help taking pity on him. A little. “If it makes you feel any better, I rather like the earring.”
He winced. “I’m just glad I didn’t let them talk me into a tattoo.”
So was she, actually.
She started to say something else but was interrupted by another knock on her door. “That’s probably Serena or Marjorie, or both, here to check on me,” she said. “I should have called to let them know I’m fine.”
“I told them I’d call if there was a problem.”
“I’ll go see who it is.”
She nearly collided in the entryway with her children, who had dashed down the stairs to see who was calling. “Would you two stay back?” she asked in exasperation. “Honestly, you would think no one ever came to our door.”
“They don’t very often,” Maggie said as Teresa opened the door.
The man on her stoop was a stranger. Somewhere in his late thirties, perhaps, he had thinning brown hair, a ruddy broad face and narrowed brown eyes. His expression was bland, but something about him gave her an odd feeling. “May I help you?”
“Would you mind if I come in?” His tone was polite, his voice gruff. “I have some information about Bud O’Neal that might interest you.”
Riley moved behind Teresa. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her from the kitchen. “I’m Riley O’Neal, Bud’s nephew. Who are you? And what do you know about Bud?” he demanded of the newcomer.
The man stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Mark, curious as always about someone new, stepped closer to study him, though Teresa motioned him to stay back.
“My name is Carl Brannon Jr.” The visitor kept his eyes on Riley as he spoke. “Does that mean anything to you?”
Riley frowned. “There used to be a guy who lived here in town named Carl Brannon. He was a schoolmate of my uncle’s. You’re his son?”
“Yes. He’s dead now. He died last Christmas.”
Teresa’s eyes widened. Another friend of Bud’s who had recently died? Was it possible that this man knew something about what was going on?
Judging from Riley’s sudden tension, she suspected his thoughts mirrored hers. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “But why are you here?”
“I need to talk to your uncle. I was hoping you could tell me where he is.”
“Uncle Bud’s on vacation,” Mark volunteered. “He’s going to take me fishing when he gets home.”
“Mark, please,” Teresa said. This was no time for her chatty son to try to get in on the conversation.
“My uncle is out of town,” Riley said evenly. “If you’d like to go next door to my place and talk to me, I’d be happy to try to get a message to Bud.”
“I’d rather talk to your uncle personally. So if you could just tell me where he is…”
“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say.”
A dark flush came from beneath Brannon’s shirt collar and spread up his already reddened face. “I want to know where he is. Hightower, too. I think you’d better tell me.”
Teresa’s heart jumped into her throat in response to the man’s tone. This guy was dangerous, she realized abruptly. Belatedly. Why had she allowed herself to be so distracted with her other problems that she’d permitted him to come inside her home?
“Mark, Maggie, go upstairs,” she said quietly. “Now.”
Maggie ran upstairs, and Mark started to follow. He didn’t even argue. Perhaps he, too, realized something was wrong. He had taken only a step when Brannon reached out to grab his shoulder, jerking the boy against him.
“Hey!” Mark protested.