Delia, with three friends, watched the action from the front porch of her lake cabin. Down at the corner, the president of the Sand Beach Homeowners Association lay dead.  The county sheriff worked on a red laptop on the hood of his patrol car while two deputies gathered evidence.

 “Jerry said he was shot,” Barbara said, sipping on lemonade. Her perm had frizzed her white hair to the point she looked like the poodle Delia had owned as a child.

Mary, with overly made up eyes, ran a finger slowly across her wrinkled throat. “That’s what Noland told me.”

Delia shook her head. “Mary, don’t show something like that on you, my mama always said it was bad luck.”

“I’m a good Christian woman,” Inez said, wrinkled and brown like old leather from years fishing in her outboard motorboat. She had no patience for evil doers. “But he deserved it the way he pushed people around.”

“Inez!” Barbara said, puffing up like a toad. “No one deserves killing.”

“He needed a chance to repent,” Mary agreed. “Rest his poor soul.”

“He never would have repented,” Inez insisted, looking disgusted.

That set them off on another silly topic that made Delia want to scream. She really liked these people, but sometimes it was just way too much. Maybe it was time to finish things here. Better yet, she wished they’d just go home. Focusing her attention on the coroner’s arrival, she managed to tune them out.

They had warned her that this area of the lake was blighted, but she wasn’t prepared for what she found.  Membership in the association was voluntary; voted years ago by lot owners who lived in trailers or manufactured housing. Most of the trailers had been abandoned, the pool and clubhouse had fallen into disrepair, and the roads were nothing more than rutted trails of hard, red clay. Residents lived on Social Security and meager pensions or minimum wage. After Jefferson gained office, his road was the only one to get any kind of maintenance.

When he started asking for all fees to be paid in cash, younger residents stopped paying in protest. The elderly members, after a visit from Jefferson, paid in cash every month. That’s about the time Delia moved to the lake. Jefferson showed up at her door all smiles with his hand out. She wouldn’t let him in.

“The association will take care of basic upkeep,” he told her. His thinning hair and weak chin repulsed her. He had a drinking man’s face. “Once you pay, I’ll have this road out here looking real nice.”

Delia politely declined.

“I don’t think you quite understand.” Jefferson’s tone changed.

When he took a step closer she grabbed her shotgun resting by the doorjamb. “What’s that law here in Texas about protecting personal property?”

“I didn’t mean nothin’,” he said, instantly backing away.

Barbara had seen her pull the shotgun from her trailer across the way. When Jefferson rabbit ran down the road she started calling the girls. In minutes, Delia had become a heroine and invited to a fish fry. To her surprise, she enjoyed it.

Then the late-night fires started. The old abandoned trailers burned to the ground. The volunteer fire department was unable to save them. The scrap metal guy was called out and he cleared the lots. No one really cared because things actually looked better until they found out Jefferson was buying up the lots. He went even further. A quick passage of a new ordinance at a board meeting was placed in the county records. It read that if the association mows a lot three times, the association would own the lot. Once taken, he could buy it from the association.

His first victim was old Mrs. Vinson who owned a prime wooded lot he coveted. He sent a company out to mow. She went out and told the man on the tractor to stop. He ignored her. Mrs. Vinson called the county sheriff.

Sheriff Watson told the guy to pack up and leave or he was going to jail. The man left. Then the sheriff had a long talk with Jefferson. Delia didn’t know what he said, but the mowing scam stopped for all permanent residents. Instead he started mowing the absentee owner’s lots by posting warning signs on the vacant property instead of mailing them. At Delia’s urging, a couple of men got together and started mowing the lots before he could do it a second time. It made him mad. Rumor has it he was the one that set fire to their sheds.
Delia shook her head grimly. Now that the Jefferson problem had been permanently solved, hopefully the association would be disbanded.

“Well, I have to get home,” Inez said, getting up. “Got to get lunch ready.”

“Me, too.” Mary wobbled as she stood.

“If you find out anything, call,” Barbara said, reaching out a steadying hand to Mary.

After they were gone, Delia stretched. July is hot at the lake when there’s no breeze. She picked up her cane, and limped down the dirt road.

“Sheriff Watson, you and your boys come up to the house, I have bottled water if you need any.”

“That’s sweet of you, Miss Delia; did you or the others remember anything?” He closed the laptop and put it inside the car.

“Nope, sorry. Our hearing’s not so good so we sleep soundly.”

“Someone said they heard a shotgun blast the other night, thought it came from your place.”

Delia nodded. “Yep, I got mad at that coyote killing the cats. I missed. Nearly broke my shoulder.”

Sheriff Watson laughed.

“Now, don’t you dare laugh at me, young man. I used to be a pretty good shot.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pressing his upper lip with two fingers to hide the smile.

 “Course,” Delia admitted with a wink. “That was forty years ago and I didn’t have cataracts.”

 Sheriff Watson guffawed. “Do you own any other guns?”

“Nope, just the shotgun. Handguns scare me.”

He looked down at her, frowning. “How’s that leg of yours?”

“A little aggravating but I do okay. Broke a hip few years back that mended wrong,” Delia said, leaning on the cane with both hands. “Anyway, you boys come on up. I’ll drag a cooler on the porch with bottled water in ice; help yourself whenever you need a break.”

“Thanks, Miss Delia,” Deputy Bob said, hearing her. “Hey, Roger, go help Miss Delia carry a cooler and bring us back some water.”

The deputies gave her little information each time they took a water break. When they ordered hamburgers to be delivered, they ate them on her porch. She went inside to give them privacy, hoping they would talk more freely while she eavesdropped next to a window. It didn’t work. By five o’clock the body was driven away and the sheriff locked Jefferson’s cabin. He drove to her place.

“Well, his family will be coming in from out of town,” he said, sitting in a white wicker rocker. “They took it hard.”

“How did he die?”

“Bullet to the the head. Another in the heart.”

Delia nodded knowingly. “Very smart, just like a professional.”

Sheriff Watson squinted at her. “Miss Delia, what are you hiding?”

Delia flung a hand over her chest. “Sheriff Watson, just because I read murder mysteries and watch TV, doesn’t mean…”

Sheriff Watson held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to suggest anything.”

“Well, okay then,” Delia said, feeling uncomfortable. He was trying to disarm her but there was something about the look in his eyes. “So why do you think he was killed?”

“Jefferson had a past. He was trying to go straight.”

Delia snorted. “Except for the stuff he pulled around here.”

“Yep, lots of enemies out here,” Sheriff Watson said. “Did he cause you any trouble?”

“No, but I caused him a lot of trouble.” Delia laughed. “I made him angry.”

“How so?”

“First off, because of me he lost a lot of dues paying members. It put a dent in his personal income. He thought if you were white headed and past sixty you’d be scared and do what he wanted.”

“That’s all?” He studied her face.

Delia’s radar hummed, her uneasiness increased. Something was wrong. Better get his mind on something else. “I’ve been thinking, Sheriff, do you think maybe Jefferson owed money to someone?” She reached in the cooler, wiped the water bottle with her house dress, and handed it to him.

“Robbery wasn’t a motive; there was plenty in plain sight.”

“That’s strange. Then it was personal?”

The sheriff leaned closer. “Someone decided he had to die and there are lots of other motives on his laptop.”
Delia’s mind shifted into warp speed. How did she miss something so simple? Cops don’t use red laptops. Then she noticed Sheriff Watson holding the bottle of water by the cap. An ominous lump grew in her stomach. “You aren’t going to drink that?”

“Saving it for the ride back,” he said, getting to his feet. “Miss Delia, could you come to town tomorrow so we can talk some more.”

“I don’t know what more I could tell you.” She heaved herself out of her chair using the cane. All she wanted now was for him to go so she could think. Something was in that laptop. She had made a mistake.

“Maybe you can help me clear something up. I’ll even treat you to lunch.” He smiled encouragingly.

Delia’s mind stopped racing and went completely blank. She couldn’t come up with any reason not to go.

“That would be real nice, Sheriff, what time?”

“Around eleven.”

“I’ll be there.”

She waved as he drove off then limped inside and twisted the deadbolt. She couldn’t flat out refuse the man, but for the first time at a strategic moment, her mind had fumbled and failed while searching for a quick lie. She tossed her cane on the couch with such force it bounced onto the floor.

After getting a beer, she popped the top, and sank into the recliner. It was nice here, that’s why she kept putting it off. Who would have guessed that the rural, woodsy life agreed with her and made her care about other people? Stupid, stupid, stupid!  Somehow she had to get out of this mess.

In her closet, she pried up the floorboard, and took out the secure cell phone and the gun. Each week she charged the battery and cleaned the gun. If only she hadn’t gone off the deep end, she’d be resting in her condo in Palm Springs.

She went back to the recliner, turned up the TV so no one prowling around outside could hear, and dialed the number. She took a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out very slowly. They were not going to be happy.

He answered pleasantly and listened without interrupting. Then with a much cooler tone he said, “I’ll call you back.”

She finished her beer and began another one when the phone vibrated on the table. Her hands trembled as she picked it up.

“The sheriff wasted no time investigating you. We were able to mount his firewall. He requested a background check on you. His daily report stated Jefferson left a document on his computer. He looked in your window once and saw you cleaning a handgun and walking fine without your cane. He was trying to find out why.”

She winced remembering the sheriff’s question and her answer denying owning any other gun. “Is the sheriff still online?”

“Yes, the request has been blocked, but his report will have to be deleted. We can destroy the computer system from here with a new virus, but the rest will have to be done in person.”
“I messed up.”

“Yes.”

 “I’m going to die tonight, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Arson?”

“That’s been established up there. No one will be the wiser.”

For some reason Delia wanted him to understand even if they didn’t. “He had to be stopped. They’re good people. It’s real life out here.”

“It wasn’t your call. Not only was it not sanctioned, you’ve jeopardized the assignment you were given.”

“I can fix this—same gun—if they’re willing to push back my death a couple of hours. I know his habits.”

“It was supposed to be a simple car accident and retrieve some paper files.”

“But I’ll be dead, too. It’ll look like a serial thing. No clues or evidence to investigate. In this part of the country it will die quickly.”

“I’ll call you back.”

Delia ate a meal to clear the alcohol buzz. Within thirty minutes she was sober, dressed, and ready when the call came.

“Your reputation gives you the chance to clean up your mess. A team is already in the air.”

It was a long drive on the winding country lanes. When she finally hit paved road she had prepared herself mentally. The sun had set and that was good.

Deputy Roger greeted her warmly.

“Are you and the sheriff alone tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the deputy said, remaining at his desk.

 Sheriff Watson saw her come in and went to greet her. “Miss Delia, you’re out late,” he said, taking her arm.
She smiled sadly, leaning heavily on him. “I have to tell you something.”

“I’m glad you came in,” he said, helping her to a chair in his office.

Jefferson’s laptop sat next to the sheriff’s desktop. A file lay open on his desk. She smiled warmly as he walked around the desk. Her hand slipped into her large purse.

With a hand on each arm rest, half seated, he was in the perfect position. By the time he saw the gun, she pulled the trigger. He crumpled as a bullet tore through the side of his head. In three steps, Delia reached the doorway and took out the stunned deputy with two in the chest. He sagged in his chair. She walked over and put another round in his forehead.

Delia locked the front door, found the outdated security camera main frame, and erased the last forty minutes before disconnecting it. Back in the sheriff’s office she found Jefferson’s file and shredded everything. She leaned over the sheriff’s body, carefully avoiding the blood, and deleted all files pertaining to her and the original case she had been sent to retrieve. The virus would remove all other traces. It took longer to go through the file drawer and find the one they wanted. Once it was stuffed in her purse she grabbed Jefferson’s laptop. It slid halfway in. She slung the purse over her shoulder.

In the outer office she made the call.

“Done, plus a deputy. I have the file and the laptop, deleted and shredded everything else. Send the virus. I don’t think he backed anything up—couldn’t find any flash drives.”

“Good. The cabin is already burning. They’ll find your body in the kitchen.”

“I won’t ask where my body came from.”

“You used to work with her.”

Delia grimaced but felt relief. She had succeeded in getting a normal extraction. “Just so you know. This job was a freebie to make up for going solo. It won’t happen again.”

“They already decided that.”

“It’s all good then?” She wanted to hear him say it.

“You’d be dead if it wasn’t. Go outside.”

Delia stepped out onto the sidewalk with the cell phone at her ear and her gun raised and ready. It wouldn’t be the first time she had been lied to. The black SUV across the street blinked its lights twice. She lowered the gun.

 “Where’s my car?”

“On its way to the cabin.”

“Okay, thanks for the second chance.” She disconnected and crossed the street to the SUV.

A young woman, a girl really, hopped out of the back and held the door for her. Was she ever that young?

As Delia leaned in the woman hit her neck hard from behind.  Her cell flew out of her hands as she dropped to her knees. The woman shoved her with her leg and Delia fell backwards onto the road, dropping the gun. The woman grabbed it and then reached down for the purse. Delia watched her retrieve the laptop and the file then put the purse next to her.  She picked up the cell before tossing everything but the gun into the SUV.
Delia rubbed the back of her head as the woman came back. Their eyes met as she pointed Delia’s gun at her. It wavered before she steadied her hand with the other one.  Poor kid was nervous.

 “I have a right to know,” Delia whispered, trying to sit up.

“Don’t do that—just lie down,” the woman said.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Delia said, lying back on the hard asphalt. “Tell me.”

“You’ll be another victim in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 “There’s no fire or body is there?”

 The young woman raised her eyebrows. “You ask that after what just happened?”

“Of course,” Delia said, closing her eyes a moment. “I’m not thinking straight. Must be from the blow.”

“I understand. Except there will be a fire—in there.” She indicated the sheriff’s office with a sharp turn of her head. “Any other questions?”

“No, just do it right. Mistakes are unacceptable.”

“I can see that,” the woman said.

A few hours later, Deputy Bob and the young coroner stood over her.

“Delia was a nice lady. She must have arrived just as that monster was leaving. At least she wasn’t burned to a crisp in the office like…” Deputy Bob’s voice caught as he watched the coroner. “If only she waited to have lunch tomorrow. Nothing could have been that important to come out at night.”

“You know old people,” the coroner said. “Probably thought her life depended on it.”