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  Praise for

  When Bobbie Sang the Blues

  “When Bobbie Sang the Blues is a fun, mystery-filled read with endearing characters set in a coastal town that feels every bit as alive as the folks who live there. At the heart of the story is Christy Castleman, a level-headed and resourceful amateur sleuth whose persistence and kind-heartedness win the day. With just the right touch of romance and faith, the story provides a satisfying visit to a community and people you’ll surely want to visit again.”

  —MINDY STARNS CLARK, author of the Smart Chick mystery series and the Million Dollar Mysteries

  “Peggy Darty gives us a charming romp through a delightful beach town, with romance and plot twists of intrigue.”

  —HANNAH ALEXANDER, author of Death Benefits

  Praise for

  When the Sandpiper Calls

  “Forget that trip to the beach this year. Just escape into Peggy Darty’s latest novel—and you’ll be there. Mystery, romance, inspiration, and the authentic atmosphere of Florida’s Emerald Coast will leap off the pages and into your heart.”

  —JOYCE HOLLAND, Northwest Florida Daily News

  It’s…an entertaining, appealing read with a surprising ending.

  —PUBLISHER’S WEEKLY

  “When the Sandpiper Calls by Peggy Darty is a story as intriguing as the author and her work. Peggy combines a unique mixture of cozy and crime in a masterful way, making When the Sandpiper Calls a page-turning must-read. Don’t miss this intriguing story told by one of my favorite authors.”

  —YVONNE LEHMAN, author of Coffee Rings, director of Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference

  For Steve and Lucy with love

  Monday, September 18, 2006

  The chime of the doorbell broke the bubble-drip-hiss rhythm of Christy Castleman’s coffee machine. Early morning visitors at Christy’s door were no surprise. A variety of people often appeared before or during breakfast, and Christy wasn’t sure who to expect as she hopped down from the stool at the breakfast bar and headed to the back door.

  Through the glass pane, a wide, fun-loving smile greeted her. Aunt Bobbie Bodine! Christy hadn’t seen her aunt in years, but there was no mistaking the unique Bobbie. A bright smile highlighted dancing blue eyes in a delicate round face with enough laugh lines to sketch character. Short blond hair dipped and waved around her small face. A rebellious curl dangled on Bobbie’s forehead, a symbol of her lively personality. Even at fifty-one, she was still a knockout by most male standards.

  Christy smiled and waved as she turned the key in the lock. She opened the door and hugged her tiny aunt, all curves and lean muscle.

  “Look at you.” Bobbie stepped back and studied her. “Prettier than ever with those big blue eyes and golden brown hair. And you’re slim as a rail. You must have guys chasing you all the time.”

  “All the time,” Christy quipped.

  Bobbie entered the kitchen, balancing herself gracefully on green cork wedges. “Am I interrupting your work?” she asked, glancing at the pen, journal, and open Bible on the counter.

  “No, I read some scripture and write in my prayer journal every morning,” Christy said. “It’s the best way to start my day.”

  Bobbie made no comment, simply turning away.

  Christy placed a mug in her aunt’s hand, her eyes sweeping Bobbie’s diminutive frame.

  “Mmm…fresh coffee,” Bobbie said as she filled her cup. “In case your mother hasn’t called with the news, I hit town yesterday and went partying until late last night.” She glanced over her shoulder and grinned, the blond curl bouncing with the movement. “My little sister went into shock, of course, being a prominent pastor’s wife.”

  Christy laughed. “I’m sure she was glad to see you. And no, she hasn’t called me. Welcome to Summer Breeze, Aunt Bobbie.”

  “Thanks, hon. It’s good to see you. How long has it been?”

  Christy frowned. “Three, four years, maybe?”

  “No!”

  “You came to visit after…”

  “After one of my separations from Eddie. But this time it’s permanent. I’ve just been through another divorce. Whoever said third time’s a charm never met Eddie Bodine.”

  A ripple of laughter followed her remark. Bobbie had always been quick to point out her own mistakes. She enjoyed life and refused to be defeated by it.

  “Bobbie, you always lift my spirits…and I think you affect others the same way.”

  “Oh, well…” She shrugged off Christy’s affirmation and sipped her coffee. “There’s nothing better than a good cup of coffee first thing in the morning.” She winked. “Or second thing in the morning. I couldn’t find a Starbucks.”

  “We don’t have one yet,” Christy said. “Nor do we have a Wal-Mart or Home Depot. This is Summer Breeze, remember?”

  Bobbie made a face and looked at her watch. “What time does the garbage truck run?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The garbage truck. Your mother said today is garbage day.”

  Christy glanced at the wall clock.

  “Sometime around nine. But it’s unpredictable.”

  “Well, we’ve got to beat the truck.” Bobbie placed her coffee mug on the counter and headed for the door.

  “Why do we have to beat the garbage truck?” Christy asked, following her.

  “Don’t you want to help your aunt make a little money? I’ve spotted one of those old pickle barrels—you know the kind you’d see in country stores? Stands about four feet high. It’s been left curbside, three streets over.”

  Christy stared at her aunt for half a second, then rewound the rubber band on her ponytail, knowing it was useless to refuse. Bobbie always got her way. Christy shoved her bare feet into flip-flops, then turned to the keys-n-things rack.

  “We’ll go in my truck,” Bobbie said.

  Christy trailed her through the kitchen door and across the sun porch. A red truck with a mangled chrome bumper sat parked at an angle in the driveway. Dented doors hinted at narrow escapes.

  Christy climbed in the truck, pushing aside a cosmetic bag and a crumpled fast-food sack. A Dixie Cup of ice rattled in the cup holder as she slammed the door.

  Bobbie hopped behind the wheel like a sixteen-year-old, then patted the cluttered dash affectionately. “Behave yourself. We’re in a nice neighborhood. No ugly noises from the tailpipe.” She turned the key, and the engine came to life.

  Christy turned in the seat to peer through the back window. How could little Bobbie see over the hodgepodge of items piled in the bed of her truck?

  “Thanks for coming along, sweetie. You’re a good sport. Your mother has always been wound a notch too tight, so I have enough fun for both of us. I have a feeling your parents are a little anxious about how long I’ll be a houseguest.”

  “Would you like to move in with me? I have a spare bed in my office.”

  “You’re a dear to offer,” Bobbie replied, “but I’ll have my own place soon. Seth already told me about a cute bungalow for lease over at Sunnyside.”

  Christy turned and looked curiously at her. “You’ve seen Seth?”

  “Seth dropped by your parents’ house last night and mentioned a new blues club had opened up. We decided to check it out and had a marvelous time. I’ve been in Memphis for years, and Memphis is the home of blues music. I love it. Look, there’s the pickle barrel.”

  They skidded to a halt before a rambling Spanish-style home. Christy recognized it and knew the owners collected antiques. She stared at the old oak barrel perched on the curb, apparently one of their castoffs. Three of the metal hoops had loosened and slid to the bottom of the barrel. To Christy, it just looked dirty and broken.

 
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.

  “Add it to my treasures,” Bobbie said. “This baby will be valuable once I reposition the hoops and tighten the staves. I’m going to open a little shop here. Everyone in Memphis loved to shop with me, but…”

  Christy waited for her to finish, but the words trailed in the air, the answer unfinished. Had the divorce prompted Bobbie’s sudden appearance in Summer Breeze? The question nagged at Christy, but her instincts told her not to ask.

  Bobbie parked the truck and looked at Christy. “Come on, honey.” She hopped out the door and hurried to inspect the barrel.

  Christy followed. She could hear the roar of the garbage truck grow closer. Helping her aunt, she tried to get a grip on the dirty barrel. As they lifted and tugged, the barrel seemed to fight back—an octopus with loose staves dangling like crazy arms. Finally, the barrel fell into the back of the truck, leaving Christy with an oak splinter in her palm.

  The garbage truck heaved around the corner as Bobbie slammed the tailgate of the truck, and Christy ran around and jumped in the front seat.

  When Bobbie got in, she pressed her hand to her chest and frowned. Christy watched as she opened her purse and removed a bottle of pills, twisting frantically on the cap. “I forgot to take my pill.”

  “Here, let me,” Christy said. “I open Granny’s pill bottles when I visit her. She has arthritis in her hands.” She pressed down on the cap and twisted it hard. When the cap loosened, she handed the bottle back.

  “Thanks.” Bobbie popped a pill in her mouth and grabbed the Dixie Cup of melted ice, draining liquid from the bottom of the cup. With a flick of the wrist, she closed the bottle and dropped it into her purse.

  “It’s long-acting nitroglycerin. Keeps my heart from racing. A pill a day and I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Christy asked, wondering about her aunt.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Bobbie replied, pressing her dainty sandal against the accelerator. The truck shuddered and heaved like a tired old hound awakened to the chase.

  Christy smiled at the absurdity of the entire morning. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “You’ll add some much-needed spice to our lives.”

  “Don’t you have a boyfriend for that?” Bobbie shot her a worried glance.

  Christy hesitated. She and Dan had started their relationship in a romantic whirlwind of flowers and long talks over moonlit dinners, and everything had been fine for more than a year. But then problems began to creep in as they fell into the trap of taking each other for granted. Now she knew they both had work to do for the relationship to survive.

  Christy’s heart lurched as Bobbie headed straight for the lamppost on the corner. “Aunt Bobbie, watch out!”

  Bobbie maneuvered a sharp right, barely missing the pole.

  “I have to rent a storage unit,” Bobbie said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “Where’s the nearest storage facility?”

  Eddie Bodine kept his distance, cruising along in his white Ford truck. Sitting close beside him, Roseann Cole studied the junk in the red pickup they were tailing. The two women in the cab seemed completely unaware they were being followed.

  Roseann glanced at Eddie. His arms were wrapped around the steering wheel, and his eyes didn’t leave the red truck. She sighed. This was getting boring.

  She pulled down the visor mirror to reapply her Crimson Passion lip gloss. As she did, she studied her reflection. She was pleased with the new perm and the mass of dark curls it created around her face and neck, and her full lips were the rave in Hollywood. Still, she knew she wasn’t a beauty. Her nose looked too thin for her face, and her brown eyes were small and close set. At thirty-four, she had learned how to make the most of her assets, however, and she liked the way her white tank top and designer jeans fit her curves. But—she glanced at Eddie—like Momma said, a girl had to have a plan.

  Roseann recapped the lip gloss and snapped the visor mirror back in place. She looked at the red truck they were following. “Eddie, honey, why don’t you just let it go?”

  “Roseann, I told you. Bobbie made off with ten grand of my money, and I ain’t gonna let that go, as you put it.” His lips curled around the words, and his round face flushed beneath the black cowboy hat.

  She reached over and trailed her fingers over his suntanned face, touching the edge of his close-cropped brown hair. She had insulted him when she suggested fewer haircuts. She’d never mentioned it again. Upsetting Eddie held consequences.

  The dark eyes softened as he looked at her. “The thing is, I was her third husband. She got money off the first two, and she didn’t need money from me.”

  She smiled and nodded, studying Eddie. At five feet nine, she sat three inches taller than he. His friend Freddy refused to date a woman he couldn’t tower over, but Eddie liked the fact that she was tall and worked out to keep her body in shape.

  “Roseann, you’re the sweetest woman I’ve ever known, and I don’t want to lose you. But if I don’t get that money back from Bobbie, my creditors will string me up. With fuel prices what they are, my company’s struggling.” His black boot stomped the brake at the stoplight.

  Roseann frowned. The fact that Eddie owned a trucking company and tossed money in her direction was the basis of her attraction to him.

  “Honey, I don’t wanna argue with you,” Eddie said, his voice low and husky. “Now scoot over here and give me a kiss. I love the way you kiss.”

  Suppressing a sigh, Roseann scooted over to kiss him.

  “This has to be the most beautiful place on earth,” Bobbie said to Christy.

  “I know. Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to live here.”

  On their way to the storage units, Bobbie drove the scenic route out of Summer Breeze, winding past long stretches of open beach. The emerald waves of the Gulf capped sugar white sands, inviting sunbathers to take advantage of the autumn sun. A purple umbrella protected a mother and her little boy as they gathered buckets of sand for their half-built sandcastle.

  Christy looked across at her aunt. Bobbies short blond curls billowed in the breeze coming through her open window. Christy remembered her aunt loved the ocean breeze; it never got too cold for her. She found herself hoping Bobbie would stay.

  “Your shop might really catch on,” Christy said, glancing through the back window to the pickle barrel lumbering around on its side in the bed of the truck. “It’ll be something different.”

  “Wait’ll you see my doors and windows!”

  “Excuse me?”

  Bobbie laughed. “I find old doors and windows and turn them into coffee tables, planters, and so forth. My pride and joy is my hall tree made from a picket fence. They were tearing down a picket fence from a yard a few blocks from me in Memphis. I grabbed the last two pieces just before they were tossed in the trash bin.”

  “Up ahead on the right,” Christy pointed. “Those are the storage units.”

  “Great.” Bobbie slowed down and turned into the graveled area, parking her red truck in front of the office.

  Their white truck cruised along, and Roseann turned to stare at the storage facility. “That sign says the gate opens at eight o’clock and closes at one in the morning.”

  “Thanks for the information,” Eddie drawled. “Don’t know what good it’ll do me.”

  “They’re standing in front of a unit with the door up. It looks empty. Think she’s going to rent a unit? It’s the one next to the office.”

  Eddie slowed the truck and glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe that’s where she’s gonna hide the money till she gets it all spent.”

  It took less than twenty minutes for Bobbie to rent a unit from a man who introduced himself as Hornsby. “It’s my last name, but I like it better than Leonard, my first name.” He was tall and lanky with a long nose and tousled dark hair, and he wore a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts with a three-inch tear above the left knee. Christy couldn’t tell if his brown eyes natura
lly protruded or if they had popped when Bobbie swayed into his office and asked if he had anything for rent.

  “Happen to have a ten-by-twenty next to the office,” he said, after an awkward moment.

  Bobbie plopped her purse down on the counter, and they followed him to the adjoining unit. As he rolled up the metal door, a blast of stale, hot air greeted them.

  “These metal units get pretty hot,” he said. “But I’ll leave it open for a little while, air it out.”

  “What about those stains on the concrete?” Bobbie pointed.

  “Something from the previous owner. If you want, I’ve got some two-by-fours in an empty unit that I can lay down over the stain.”

  Bobbie nodded. “I only have a few boxes, but I’d like to protect them.”

  While Hornsby went after the wood, she turned to Christy. “What do you think?”

  Christy shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to stay in here long, but it’s the middle of September. Soon the weather will cool down.”

  Hornsby returned, balancing several pieces of wood in his arms. He laid them over the stain.

  “Okay, I’ll take it,” Bobbie said.

  “Come back in the office, and we’ll do the paperwork,” Hornsby suggested.

  Bobbie and Christy followed him back to his tiny office, where he opened a squeaky drawer and removed a file folder.

  Bobbie didn’t bother asking rates. She glanced carelessly over the contract he handed her, signed the forms, then pulled a wad of bills from her sequined shoulder bag. “I’ll pay three months in advance,” she said, slapping three one hundred dollar bills in Hornsby’s sweaty palm. She turned to Christy. “I have a moving van set to bring my stuff as soon as I call them.”

  As they walked out of the office with Hornsby following, Bobbie turned to him. “Honey, you think you could help us put a couple of things in the unit?”

  “I don’t usually—,” he began, following them to Bobbies truck. His gaze slid over the boxes and settled on the sixty-gallon barrel.