My eyes scanned the place as I walked in. Across the room, on a machine that looked more like a torture device, sat a heaving and huffing Harry. I watched him a moment. Could he be the killer? Or was Jerry just trying to throw me off his trail? I mean, a couch is a pretty trivial thing to commit murder over. I suppose people had committed crimes because of less, though.
A window separated the spinning room from the weight equipment. That meant that while my legs went round and round, I could also keep an eye on Harry, see if he acted suspicious.
“You need to get warmed up first,” Tiara said. “You know, stretch out.”
I glanced through the window at Harry, still working diligently with a weight machine that made his muscles bulge. I’m sure that was the effect he was going for. I noticed a couple other females in the class eyeing him.
“He likes to show off for the ladies,” Tiara whispered, all the while pulling her leg nearly over her head. How did she bend that way?
I tried to copy her and nearly tumbled onto my face. I’d stick with something more basic—I reached for my toes, but only got to my knees. I never was the athletic type; I left that to Kent.
Speaking of Kent—I glanced at my watch. It was dinnertime. I wondered if he’d be home on time today. I needed to ask him where he went every Friday. I’d been so mad that I didn’t even bother to leave him a note to say where I was.
Maybe our marriage was going south. Maybe Donna and Tiara were right, and I should just give in to the inevitable routine of a stale marriage.
“Laura! Great to have you here. Your first time doing a spinning class?” A neighbor, Karen Jones, who lived two streets over approached me, looking very fit and trim in her exercise outfit.
“No, I’ve never done spinning before.” How hard could it be? I just had to ride an exercise bike for thirty minutes, right?
Karen patted my hand. “I’ll try and take it easy on you, then.” She grinned. What did that mean?
As I climbed onto my stationary bike, I glanced back over to where Harry was.
His machine was empty.
My gaze flew across the gym. I didn’t see him anywhere.
Where did he go?
“Okay, let’s start this slow, ladies. Let’s go nice and easy to get warmed up.”
I turned the pedals round and round. Already, my behind hurt from the impossibly small seat.
“You doing okay, Berry?”
I glanced at my instructor, horrified that she’d called me out. “Just fine, thanks.”
I tried to pay attention as we went up hills and raced in an imaginary bike run and then went up and down several more hills.
Sweat poured down my brow.
I glanced back out at the weight machines. Still no Harry. Did he leave? Where could he have gone?
“I need your full attention, Berry. Spinning takes concentration.”
I snapped my gaze back to Karen—who, now that I thought about it, used to be a drill sergeant in the army. Convenient.
Why did everyone else in the class look like they were enjoying it? Riding these bikes was torture, pure and simple. The other participants were smiling despite the sweat dripping down their faces. A few even cheered on occasion. They were obviously all freaks.
I tried to keep my head facing Karen and let my eyes look to the side. A moment later, Harry emerged from the nook where the bathrooms and water fountain were located, sipping a paper cup of water and talking to someone.
The Godfather.
My new neighbor, whose name escaped me at that moment.
The conversation didn’t look lighthearted and fun. There weren’t any smiles or laughing eyes. Harry scanned the room, as if to make sure there were no listening ears or watching eyes.
Then he slipped something out of his pocket and handed it to the Godfather.
Could Harry have paid him to knock off Candace?
“How you doing, Berry?”
Karen’s voice snapped me back to reality. Suddenly, my legs began moving in circles and I couldn’t stop them. My thighs burned. My calves were crying out. My gluteus maximus demanded a break.
Before I could convince them otherwise, my muscles went as limp as spaghetti and I sprawled across the floor.
“Spinning class, huh? I never thought you’d be interested in something like that.” Kent placed another compress on my knee, which had rammed into the bike on my way to the ground.
“What better time than now to get into shape?” I tried to bend my other leg and grimaced. Man, were my muscles sore. Already. That wasn’t a good sign.
“It’s a good thing Tiara could bring you home. I don’t think you could have driven in your current state.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to let my muscles recover.”
“You pushed yourself too hard. Karen Jones feels terrible. She’s called three times to check on you.”
I scowled. “Karen Jones is a Nazi. She delighted in torturing me.”
Kent smiled. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Oh, but it is. That class was just awful.”
“Hopefully the pain reliever will kick in soon.” Kent sat across from me. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about your day? Anything exciting happen?”
“I ran into Jerry Flynn. Does that count?”
“I thought I’d heard rumor of such.”
“Working in the pharmacy, I guess you get to hear everything.” You would have heard it directly from me, but you weren’t there when I stopped by. I don’t know why I didn’t voice my thoughts aloud. Maybe I wasn’t ready to face reality if I didn’t like his answer.
“I can’t believe he was hiding in town this whole time.”
“I can’t believe he was having an affair. I mean, how do people get to that point in their marriage?”
“They don’t respect their vows. They don’t feel their partner is making them happy anymore, so they look for someone who can. We were talking about this at our last men’s Bible study. When you first get married, you concentrate on making the other person happy. After awhile, it becomes about your spouse making you happy. The truth of the matter is that happiness comes from within.”
“Food for thought.” I questioned my own understanding of our relationship. Where did I stand on the happiness issue?
Kent kissed my forehead. “Not everyone has it as good as we do.”
Did we have it good? Did Kent really think that? Couldn’t he see how we were drifting apart lately?
There was one thing I knew: I, Laura Berry, wasn’t happy. And I had to do something about my current mental state. Soon.
Chapter 14
The scent of apple pies, cinnamon, and other sweet somethings drifted through the air. If I let myself, I could easily gain five pounds today.
It was Saturday, the day of the church bake sale. In Boring, this was apparently the event of the year. A quartet sang over in one corner of the church’s fellowship hall. All around the perimeter were tables with various treats. All the pies were together, as well as cakes, cookies, brownies, candy and, of course, the breads.
Any of the food could be poisoned, I rationalized. After all, each piece was homemade. All someone had to do was slip a little something in with the flour and sugar.
I also realized that if I could find the banana bread, I might find the killer.
As I stood behind my table, I carefully scanned all the goodies. Since I didn’t bake, I promised to man a section.
As soon as I got the chance, I’d make my way to that table with the banana bread. Emma Jean was manning that section and I didn’t want to cause any trouble. I’d gotten stuck selling the pies.
Things were hopping much more than I’d anticipated, and we’d had a steady crowd since we opened our doors. There was a killer out there, and here we were selling homemade foods. The thought disturbed me, but I was sure if I mentioned it, people would find me paranoid.
The one thing about the bake sale was that everyone from town came out for it
. I’d met several new people and many had offered their condolences to me since I found Candace. I also heard several theories from people eager to share. They said it was because I was now a member of the Neighborhood Watch.
One person said someone killed Candace because she and Jerry were involved in a Star Trek role playing game that went too far.
Another person said Candace had put the sleeping pills on those pork rinds herself. It was suicide.
Still another person claimed Jerry wanted to cash in on his wife’s life insurance policy. I’d heard that one several times now. Maybe these people were on to something.
“Laura, I was hoping to find you here.”
Hillary stood at my table wearing a smart navy blue suit. Come to think of it, I never saw her not wearing a suit.
“Hi, Hillary.” I held up a pie. “Would you like to buy a pie? Part of the money is going toward Candace’s funeral.”
“Not now.” Her voice sounded serious. “I need your help.”
“Sure, what’s going on?”
“I can’t talk about it here. Can you meet me tonight?”
Kent’s face flashed in my mind. I’d really wanted to spend some time with him, maybe figure out what was going on.
“I’m desperate, Laura.”
I supposed Kent and I could talk later. “Sure, Hillary. Where do you want to meet?”
“My house. Five o’clock. Sound good?”
“I’ll be there.”
I watched as she briskly walked away, and wondered what had her so upset. I guess I’d find out tonight.
“Hi, Lauren.”
I glanced up and saw my new neighbor. “Hi, Gia. How are you?”
“I just thought I’d come and check out this little sale I’ve heard so much about.” She looked around the church in disdain.
“We have lots of goodies.” I studied her a moment, realizing she wasn’t interested in any of the food. She seemed preoccupied with something else as she glanced around the building. I cleared my throat. “Are you all moved in?”
She swung her gaze back toward me and twirled a lock of hair, looking bored. “We’re getting there. I’m so tired of moving.”
“You’ve moved a lot, huh?”
She shrugged. “You could say that. Hopefully we’ll be here for awhile.” She looked around again. “Or maybe not.”
“Boring takes getting used to.”
Her eyebrows flickered up. “You could say that.”
I glanced around the room. “No husband with you today?”
“No, he’s working.”
“What does he do for a living again?”
She seemed to hesitate. “We’re business owners.”
This would be a great time for me to practice being neighborly. “Oh, do you? What kind of business?”
Her gaze met mine. “We sell futons.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about Gia’s confession. Okay, it wasn’t so much a confession, but to me, that’s what it sounded like. I mean, a futon store? Why here in Boring, of all places? I mean, we already had a store dedicated entirely to couches.
Could it be motive for murder?
Lately, it seemed like everyone had a motive.
Maybe even my own husband. I mean, he was keeping secrets from me. I had no idea what he could be doing that he wouldn’t tell me about. All I knew was that it equaled trouble. I bit my lip.
I still needed to wander to the bread table. We’d close everything down at two p.m., which was only an hour and a half away. I asked the woman beside me if she’d keep an eye on my table for a minute. She agreed.
I meandered around the tables, trying to appear casual and like I wasn’t making a beeline for Emma Jean. I made polite conversation as I went, and I eventually stopped to look at the breads.
Emma Jean scowled as she held out a loaf bundled in green plastic wrap. “Would you like some delicious treats, made by our wonderful locals?” she asked with her scratchy, slightly grating and way-too-loud voice.
I rubbed my hands together and offered a polite smile. “I’m looking for banana bread. Any of that over here?”
“No, it sold out this morning. Very popular. Very, very popular.”
I snapped my fingers. “That’s too bad. Do you know who made it? Maybe I can get the recipe from her?”
“The same person who makes it every year.”
I waited for that person’s name. When Emma Jean didn’t offer, I asked, “And who would that be?”
“The former homecoming queen of Boring High, class of 1988. A respected member of the community. A dear friend, great mom and dedicated wife.”
Again, I waited. Emma Jean had to point out that the person was an “original.” It was her way of letting me know that I wasn’t a part of Boring’s inner circle. That was Emma Jean for you. I tapped my foot, losing patience. “A name, please.”
Emma Jean smirked. “Donna, of course.”
Donna couldn’t be a killer. Not Mrs. Suzy Homemaker, the former cheerleader with her football star husband. The two had been high school sweethearts but went their separate ways during college. They both married other people but then got divorced. They reconnected several years back, and had been together ever since.
But Harry did say that Donna and Candace had been arguing on the day before she died. I had to find out about the bad blood between them.
As soon as I got home, I’d make a list of my suspects. I just couldn’t keep them straight anymore, not when it seemed like everyone in town had some sort of motive.
When the bake sale ended, I quickly collected my things and hurried home. The TV blared in the background as I walked into the house. I found my husband in the living room reclining on the couch and munching on popcorn. The microwavable bags seemed safe enough, though everything was suspect in my mind lately.
“Did you bring me back anything from the bake sale?” Kent stretched across the couch, his sock-clad feed propped up on the arm. Football played on the TV. Thank goodness he didn’t drink. Otherwise, he might just be the stereotypical couch potato.
I nearly gasped at the thought. Maybe that was our problem … both of us were becoming stereotypes. He was becoming the couch potato. I was becoming the overbearing wife. And our marriage was suffering from the mythical seven-year itch.
“Laura?”
My gaze refocused on Kent. “Yes?”
“Did you bring me anything from the bake sale? Maybe some cannoli like I requested?”
Was he kidding? No way was I buying anything at that sale. Who knew what people could have put in those baked goods.
“Nope, sure didn’t.”
He sat up slightly and looked at me with a knot between his eyes. “Why not?”
“We don’t need anything. Otherwise, we’ll both get the middle-age bulge. No one wants that.”
“I’ve never known you to be so concerned for your weight, Laura, until recently.” He stuffed more popcorn in his mouth.
“It’s never too early to start thinking about living a healthy lifestyle.”
“Of course.” He muted the game. “So, what’s going on for the rest of the day?”
I sat down beside him. “I don’t know. I was hoping maybe you had some ideas.”
He shrugged, his attention drawn back to the silent TV screen. Suddenly, he was on his feet, and the popcorn scattered over the floor. “Yes! Did you see that play? Did you see it? It was incredible. I just can’t believe it.”
I slowly blew out the breath I held. “Nope, I missed it, sorry to say.”
“I can’t believe it.” His fist looped in the air. “Yes! A touchdown. Laura, that was just amazing.”
“Sounds like it.”
I thought about picking up the popcorn but decided against it. He made the mess; he could clean it up.
Finally, he calmed down enough to see kernels all over the floor. He knelt to pick them up. “That was just unbelievable.”
“You mentioned that.” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my
voice. He didn’t seem to notice.
Finally, he looked at me again. “So, what were we talking about again?”
“Our plans for tonight.”
“Oh, right. I figured we’d just stay home and take it easy. I’m exhausted from working so much lately. I really don’t want to do anything.”
I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. When would things ever return to normal? Or was this our new normal?
It was just as well. I excused myself—which Kent hardly noticed because the game came back on—and went into our office area. I pulled out a notebook and jotted down all of my thoughts.
I made a list of all the possible suspects, starting with Donna. Beside her name, I wrote: seen arguing with Candace. Homeowners’ Association? Banana bread?
Then I wrote Jerry: Life insurance policy?
Yvonne: To be with Jerry?
Harry: Angry about couch?
Gia: Opening a competitive store?
Kent? I didn’t have a motive to write beside my husband’s name, which was just as well. Still, I couldn’t ignore the secrets he’d been hiding lately.
Next, I wrote down my clues. My first was the threatening note. Someone had to put it in my mailbox without being noticed. I suppose anyone on my street could have done it, but Donna was the most likely. Then there was the banana bread. That seemed most likely to be Donna also.
I still couldn’t believe she would be capable of killing Candace. Besides, I didn’t have a reasonable motive for her.
What other clues was I missing?
There were the poisoned pork rinds, of course. Someone had to get into the Flynns’ house to poison the pork rinds, and that same person had to have access to sleeping pills. According to Kent, anyone could have gotten the drug because so many people used it.
What was I missing?
The phone rang and I snatched it up.
“Hey, chickaroonie. Did you hear the news?”
I perched the phone under my ear to talk to Babe. “What news?”
“The police found Jerry.”
Chapter 15
Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) Page 10