Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) (15 page)

Chapter 17

“I guess this clears Jerry,” I mumbled to Babe. Jerry had been at the police station handing over his financial information when the runaway golf cart came at us.

I rubbed my elbow, which was still sore from my tumble onto the grass. At least I didn’t have tire marks across my skin. I’d come close—too close.

Babe and I sat across from Chief Romeo at the police station. We’d hobbled halfway back to my house after the golf cart sped away. Then Harry had pulled up and offered us a ride home. Kent had bandaged us and brought us straight here.

Right now, Kent waited in the lobby, pacing the last I’d seen him. Totally clueless about what had happened. I felt certain that Kent thought the incident was an accident, maybe someone with dementia who hadn’t seen us walking. Kent wasn’t the type to suspect foul play. He always thought the best about people.

I wished I could do the same.

Neither Babe nor I had gotten a good look at the driver of the golf cart. Its lights were too bright and, after unsuccessfully trying to run us over, it sped away so fast the person was just a blur.

Thankfully, neither of us was hurt.

“How do the two of you keep finding yourselves in the middle of this?”

“Good question.” I nodded. “I have no idea.”

“Maybe we’re trouble magnets.” Babe sounded a little too gleeful about that.

Chief Romeo sighed. “Well, I suggest you stay out of trouble. Whoever this killer is, he or she shouldn’t be messed with.”

I shifted in my seat. “Respectfully, sir, trouble always seems to find us, not the other way around.”

“Is there anything else you two want to tell me?”

Babe looked at me and nodded. I sighed and spilled everything…well, almost everything.

“Candace was threatening to tell everyone that Donna has a criminal past. Donna is thinking about running against Hillary as president of the Homeowners’ Association, and Donna thought the information would ruin her chances.”

“Did Candace and Donna not get along?”

I looked at Babe. “You would know better than me.”

“She, Tiara and Donna all used to be best friends. Only in the past month or so had they started to grow apart.”

The chief leaned closer to me, his gaze intense. “Do you think Donna would kill Candace in order to save her reputation?”

“I suppose stranger things have happened.” An invisible weight pressed on my chest, and I shrugged. “I’ll leave you to find that answer, I guess.”

The chief asked a few more questions before dismissing us with that same worn-out charge to contact him if we thought of anything else.

Kent greeted me with a hug when I stepped into the lobby. “You okay?”

I nodded. “I just want to go home.”

I’d fallen asleep soon after getting home, maybe just to avoid talking to Kent or maybe out of exhaustion. I wasn’t sure.

But the next morning, when Kent kissed me as he left for work, I felt instantly alert. I jerked myself to a sitting position in bed. When I saw Kent walking out of the bedroom door, I quickly grabbed my robe and threw it around me before following him.

“What about Candace’s funeral?”

“I wish I could make it, but I don’t have anyone to manage the pharmacy.”

“Can’t you miss just a few hours of work?” I stared at him in his suit and tie, looking very trim and handsome. And I wanted him with me. Not filling prescriptions. I needed him by my side.

“Laura, we knew this transition would be tough when we moved here. I can’t afford to take time off. Not yet.” He stepped closer and swiped a hair behind my ear. “You understand, don’t you?”

I wanted to pout and whine and throw a little temper tantrum. Instead, I said, “I hate going to funerals alone.” Okay, it was still pouty and whiny but measured all the same.

“All your friends from the neighborhood will be there. You won’t be alone.”

Except they would all be with their husbands.

“I’ll make it up to you, honey. We’ll go out to dinner tonight, okay? We’ll go wherever you want.”

I raised my chin slightly. “Somewhere in the city?”

“Anywhere.” He smiled and kissed me before glancing at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I’ll see you tonight.”

I nodded as he walked out the door. Tonight would be the perfect time to tell him about the note. We’d be out of the house, relaxed and alone. I made up my mind. Tonight was the night.

I stepped back and leaned against the wall, trying to clear my head. What happened to Mrs. Independent? I’d always prided myself on being strong and not needing a man while I was in college. Then I met Kent, fell in love, and realized how silly I’d been. Yet even in my marriage I’d fought to be strong, to make my own money, to not be too needy.

And now I was crumbling.

I shook off my self-pity and got dressed. Then I grabbed the casserole I’d prepared yesterday morning—a chicken cacciatore pasta bake. It looked pretty tasty, so hopefully the dish would be. I bundled up in a wool coat and threw my purse over my shoulder to leave.

Outside, the sun shone bright and the sky stretched blue and clear, yet a frosty wind zipped through the air. I braced myself and hurried down the sidewalk to my car.

A few minutes later, I pulled up at Boring Community Church.

I walked into the kitchen amidst a flurry of white hair. What was I supposed to do with this casserole? I’d never been asked before to cook something for a funeral, so this was a first for me.

“I didn’t know you were bringing something, chickaroonie.”

Thank goodness for Babe. She took the dish from my hands and ushered me to a table in the fellowship hall, which was bustling with activity.

“Where’s Kent?” Babe called over her shoulder.

I fought a frown. “He had to work.”

“Bummer. You mind if I sit with you instead? I promise not to play my Nintendo DS. That Brain Age game is really addicting. It keeps telling me I have the mind of an 18-year-old.”

“I’d love the company.” Good old Babe. Thank you, Lord. She’s my saving grace. Well, You are. But Babe’s Your angel.

“Just let me drop off your dish. It looks off the hook.”

I smiled. “Totally.”

She joined me a few minutes later, and we strode down the hallway toward the sanctuary. My gut churned, and I felt like I might vomit. Funerals had always had this effect on me, ever since I had to attend my grandmother’s when I was 12. My hands trembled around the strap of my purse as we entered the sanctuary.

I still couldn’t believe Candace was dead, murdered at that. Each morning, it seemed like I should wake up and discover the whole scenario to be merely a nightmare. Even with everything that had happened, Candace’s untimely death still seemed like a B-grade horror movie.

I stared at the casket at the front of the room. Babe stepped toward it, but I stopped and shook my head. I never could deal with viewings at funerals. I held back and watched dear Babe, dressed in a black dress and wearing a hot pink scarf across her hair, peer into the coffin and shake her head, as if the death was a shame.

And it was a shame. I’d learned to stop questioning God about why some people’s lives were snatched away early, before their time. I knew I’d never understand it. I understood that I’d never understand.

Babe came back and took my hand. She led me to a seat, midway in the sanctuary. As we sat, she patted my hand.

“Candace may not have been well-liked, but she didn’t deserve this.”

I glanced at Babe. “I couldn’t agree more. The person who did this needs to be put behind bars.”

“Very true, but this isn’t the time to speak about it. This is the time to honor a friend.”

I couldn’t think of any better way to honor her than to find her killer, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

As the funeral began, I spotted Jerry on the front row. His face looked ashen, and his cheeks sunken. Being questioned for your wife’s death could do that to a person.

I did know that the same person who killed Candace was trying to kill me. And since Jerry was at the police station last night, he wasn’t the one who tried to run me over. Maybe the man had no scruples, but he wasn’t a killer.

Who did I know who owned a golf cart? It would be easier to narrow it down by listing everyone I knew who didn’t own one. It seemed like almost everyone in the community had the things. Most of the men golfed on evenings and weekends. Even the preacher owned a cart.

I fought a sigh. I just couldn’t stop trying to figure out who-done-it.

The preacher began the eulogy. I tried to listen, but my eyes scanned the full church. I spotted Donna and Tiara with their husbands on the other side of the room. They used tissues to dab their eyes. Could one of them have done it? Donna certainly had motive—a weak motive, but still a motive—and the evidence seemed to be stacking up against her. But—I came back to this time and time again—I couldn’t see her killing someone. A few rows in front of me sat Harry, and a few rows in front of him was Chief Romeo.

Most of the town appeared to be here; the crowd even flowed into the foyer. Everyone—except Kent—seemed to want to pay their respects, even if Candace hadn’t been well-liked. Babe told me that was just the way things worked in a small town.

Another thought hit me, causing goose bumps to sweep over my arms.

If most of the town was here, was the killer in this building right now?

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Babe leaned toward me and offered me a Victoria’s Secret breath mint. I politely refused.

“I just hate funerals,” I whispered, as people filed out of the sanctuary.

“They’re awful, aren’t they? When I die, I want a celebration, not a cry fest.”

I nodded. “You want people to celebrate your life. I like that.”

“People don’t need to cry for me. I’m going to be in a better place, a place where I can rollerblade without cracking any bones.”

I smiled. “That sounds nice.”

Heaven. What a comfort. To be able to sing with the angels, to meet the Creator on His own turf, to be reunited with loved ones.

But as wonderful as it sounded, I didn’t feel ready to go there yet. My life felt unfinished.

Yet, if I wasn’t careful, my arrival date into heaven just might come sooner than expected—if a certain killer had his way.

Most of the room had cleared, so Babe and I slid from the pew and followed the crowd back into the fellowship hall. I could already smell the savory scents of barbecue and fried chicken and other foods I couldn’t quite identify. As my mouth watered, I momentarily felt guilty for forgetting about Candace.

“This is the best part of funerals,” Babe whispered.

At least someone else shared my sentiments. The difference was, I would never, ever voice the thought.

“I think I want a luau for my funeral. Maybe even leis, a roasted pig, lots of pineapple—slices on fruit trays, pineapple upside-down cake, grilled pineapple.”

“Babe! A celebration is one thing, but a party is a totally different story. It would just seem irreverent to have a themed dinner after a funeral.”

“I want a slideshow too, with lots of pictures from my life. You’ll help with that, won’t you, Laura?”

“Babe, I don’t want to even think about that.”