Death in Dahlonega (A Trixie Montgomery Cozy Mystery Book 1) by Deborah Malone

the door. Dee Dee and I had dressed in jeans and long sleeve shirts and Nana had on another of her jogging ensembles. You could call us the three Musketeers.
    Someone had laid out a continental breakfast of pastries and coffee in the lobby for those who didn’t want to eat in the dining room. We chatted with Joyce while we ate sticky buns and drank steaming hot coffee. I filled her in on our plan to visit the Hawkins’ place.
    “You’d better watch your backs if you are determined to go out there,” she warned. “By the way, did you get a chance to talk with Miranda yesterday?
    “Uh, yes. I talked with her.” I wondered why Joyce wanted to know, if she was just nosey, or if she had another reason for asking.
    “Do you think she had anything to do with Tatum’s murder?” She took another sip of coffee. “I wouldn’t be surprised, the way she ranted and raved about his infidelity.”
    “Well…” I took a breath, weighing whether or not to divulge Miranda and my conversation.
    “If you ask me, he got what he deserved.” Joyce’s nostrils flared with distaste in a way that seemed out of character for the nice innkeeper.
    “Why would you say that?” I leaned forward.
    “J-just imagine how furious he made somebody, in order to be murdered in such a violent way. With a pickaxe!”
    “Yes. Imagine.” I blinked down at the remainder of my now unappetizing bear claw. Whether or not it was true, I still thought it an odd thing for her to say.
    Dee Dee and I finished our coffee, and left Nana talking to Joyce and Leroy, “that nice young nephew of hers” who creeped the heck out of me.
    We stepped outside, a little nip in the air greeting us. A slight breeze blew as gentle as an angel’s breath. It was the beginning of another beautiful day. Only a few vendors had ventured out this early in the morning. Others walked up the steps of the local parish, the steeple bell ringing out a Sunday morning welcome.
    “I feel guilty we’re not going to church.” Dee Dee sniffed. “Especially with everything that’s going on.”
    “Let’s pray, quick.” I took her hands in mine, knowing we needed our Father’s direction.
    Dee Dee prayed. “Heavenly Father, please keep us safe and help us to find John Tatum’s real killer… In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
    I contributed a hearty, “Amen!” and felt stronger for it.
    I followed the haphazard directions Sueleigh gave us. From the rear-view mirror, I saw the town fade away. The golden leaves of the surrounding forest glowed in the morning sunlight. The twists and turns of the mountainous road dictated the speed I drove. Leaves still clung to many of the trees, but along the side of the road, boulders were dusted in already fallen foliage. I was lost in my thoughts when Dee Dee spoke.
    “This view takes my breath away,” she said with a contented sigh.
    “Mine, too. Doesn’t it look like God created a kaleidoscope?”
    “It sure does.” After a minute of contemplation she spoke again. “Trix, I’m still concerned we’re traveling so far out. What if something happens? You heard how mean Joyce said Tommy Hawkins is.”
    “I bet he’s not that mean. She’s probably exaggerating.”
    Like you believe that, Trixie. I shifted in my seat and peered at the twisting road all the more intently.
    “Have you thought of any reasons I can give Tommy to interview him?” I thought about the moonshine still Hawkins hid in the woods. A story about the back woods would definitely earn brownie points from Harv.
    “Since you’re writing on the gold rush, why don’t you use that as an opener? Most folks with roots from around here have someone in their families that mined gold.”
    “That could work. Thanks.” As we drove, we talked about the kids, the cats, and anything else that kept us from dwelling on the inevitable meeting.
    As we rounded a tight curve, I spied something furry skittering across the road at the double yellow line.
    Dee Dee screamed, pointing ahead,