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.”
“Are you saying you’ll miss me, chickaroonie?”
“Of course I’ll miss you. You’re my only friend.” I blushed when the words left my lips. They sounded so pathetic.
“I’ll miss you, too.” She patted my shoulder. Her gaze locked on something across the room and suddenly she scowled. “What’s he doing here?”
My shoulders tensed. “Who?” I followed her gaze and spotted the local bank owner. “Paul. Of course. Why do you dislike him so much?” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing about him to like.”
“He seems nice enough to me.”
“Well, you don’t know him like I do.” She grabbed a plate and piled food onto it. “And count that as a blessing.”
Another woman from church began chatting about the recipe for a congealed salad, so I couldn’t question Babe any more. I still couldn’t figure out the curious relationship between the two senior adults.
I shoved the thought to the back of my mind, and thought instead about where I wanted to go for dinner tonight.
“I hate funerals,” Hillary whispered, spearing a cucumber slice as she came alongside me at the buffet.
I grabbed a ham biscuit. “Me too.” I looked behind her. “Where’s your husband?”
“Had to work. Yours?”
“Same.”
Well, maybe Hillary and I did have something in common: We were both former career women with husbands who worked too much. Maybe Hillary wasn’t that bad after all.
Something in her oversized purse caught my eye. I tried to look away but couldn’t. The Do-It-Yourselfer’s Guide to Becoming a Private Eye . Interesting.
Her hand went to her purse and her cheeks reddened. “You caught me.”
“Thinking of starting a new career?”
A weak laugh escaped. “I’m just keeping tabs on Mark. I’m not the most trusting person. Please don’t tell anyone, though. I know it sounds insecure.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I’ve got to eat quickly and then get back home to work on the association’s newsletter. The work never ends.”
“You seem to enjoy it, though.”
“I do. It’s my life. That’s why I have to put so much into my campaign. Have you thought anymore about helping?”
I grabbed a sausage ball. “I haven’t made any decisions yet.”
“Don’t take too long, or you’ll miss out.”
And with that, she scurried away. She shook hands and mingled like a true politician.
I nibbled on my pimento cheese triangle and watched her. I wondered if she had an alibi for the day Candace died.
Chapter 18
After the funeral, I wandered toward the pharmacy. Maybe I’d check on my husband, provided he was indeed working and not at a secret meeting again. Of course, today wasn’t Friday, so I should be okay. I parked in the public lot and meandered toward my husband’s dream—or lately, what felt like his mistress.
Maybe my problem was that I had too much time to think. Maybe I needed to put “the incident” behind me and look for another job. Of course, no one would want to hire me, especially with no references—and I’d never, ever put my former company down as a reference. Only if I wanted a death wish. Even if I started my own PR firm, my past would eventually catch up with me.
As I passed the bank, I remembered I had a deposit to make. Buying the pharmacy had sucked up most of our savings, and it could be awhile before we turned a profit. This check was the last of my severance package, and we needed to put it away for the mythical rainy day.
I stepped into the bank and spotted Paul sitting in his corner office. I bypassed the tellers and made a beeline toward him.
“Laura Berry! Good to see you. Just to let you know, I’m not dead. Yet.” He grinned as he reached out to shake my hand.
My cheeks flushed as he pumped my arm up and down. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”
“What fun would that be?” As he sat, his smile turned more serious. “What brings you in today?”
“Just need to a make a deposit into my savings.” I glanced at my check and shrugged. “And I thought I would say hi while I was at it.”
“Your friend Ms. Pritchard isn’t with you today?”
Now he had my attention. “No, she’s cleaning up after the funeral.”
“So sad to hear about Candace.” He shook his head slowly. “What a shame. But the funeral was lovely.”
“I know. And to think the killer is still out there.”
He raised his eyebrows, and steepled his fingers in front of him. “God bless anyone who encounters him.”
I shifted in my seat. “Or her.”
He froze and stared at me. “Excuse me?”
“You said him. As if the killer is male.” I leaned back in my chair. “The killer could very well be a she.”
He smiled and shook his finger at me. “You’re a smart one. I knew that from the first day I laid eyes on you.”
My cheeks flushed again. “I haven’t heard that in awhile, so thank you.”
“You ever want to start working again, you come and see me.”
“I’m afraid banks usually don’t need PR reps.”
“Well, this is no ordinary bank.” He winked.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Willis.” I pushed my check forward. Just seeing the name of my old employer caused my gut to churn. “Now, if I could deposit this.”
As he ran the check through a machine, I couldn’t help but ask, “So, how long have you known Babe?”
He grinned that million-dollar-smile again. “What did she tell you?”
“Only that you used to own a jazz club.”
He nodded as the machine squealed. “It’s true. We go way back.”
I waited for him to share more. Instead, he handed me a receipt. “It’s always great seeing you, Mrs. Berry. Keep thinking about that job offer.”
> With no more answers than before, I moseyed to the pharmacy. As soon as I walked in, I glimpsed Kent in his white coat behind the pharmacy counter. He did look busy—and quite handsome, if I did say so. I also noticed his skin looked pale, as if he’d been inside too much. When we first started dating, we were constantly outside—having picnics, taking walks, searching for shooting stars. What was it about adulthood that kept us inside more? Full-time jobs, I supposed.
I couldn’t believe our seventh anniversary was in less than a week. It was the one time of the year I knew Kent and I would take time for each other. Anniversaries were good for that. It was the one piece of hope I had for our relationship. When the rest of the outlook seemed bleak, romance was definite each year when we celebrated our wedding. Who cared that this year it fell on the same day as the Super Bowl?
Jasmine nearly collided with me as she rushed through the front door.
“Oh, Mrs. Berry. I’m so sorry.” She grasped my arms to steady herself. Her eyes looked red, as if she’d been crying.
“It’s Laura, and it’s okay.” I leaned closer when I felt her hands trembling. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, and a tear escaped. “No, I’m terrible.” She drew in a deep breath and sobbed. “I killed Candace Flynn!”
I stared at Jasmine as she sat in the booth across from me at the pharmacy, and I handed her a tissue. Her sobs had calmed down—slightly—but her confession had me more curious than a cat who’d discovered a mouse hole.
“Why would you think you killed Candace, sweetie?”
She sniffed, and her lips turned downward, a sure sign of the sob to come. Surprisingly, she pulled in a breath and blurted, “I promise, I didn’t mean to. Everything’s just been eating at me and now with the funeral—I felt so guilty.”
“You said you didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to what?”
She wiped her eyes with a crumbled tissue. “Provide the sleeping pills used to kill her.”
I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t. Instead, I patted her hand.
“You couldn’t possibly have known. Your job is to simply fill prescriptions.”
“That’s exactly it. I didn’t do my job. I let my emotions get in the way.” The frown reappeared, followed by a wail. I saw Kent glance at us curiously. I shook my head, indicating for him to leave us be. He stared for another moment before turning back to the computer.
I leaned toward her, and lowered my voice. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
She wiped another tear. “I just always feel so bad when people don’t have insurance. Prescriptions can sometimes be twenty or thirty dollars a pill.”
“They can be expensive.”
“Anyway, this one customer was practically in tears. Said she couldn’t keep paying so much for her prescriptions, and her son’s medications, and her husband’s preexisting condition. It costs her almost four hundred dollars a month. That’s a lot of money.”
“What does this have to do with Candace?” I tried to keep my voice even, but inside, I wanted to scream, get on with it!
“I slipped a few extra pills into this woman’s prescription. Every little bit can help, I figured. But I just know those were the pills used to kill Candace!”
I sucked in a breath. “Jasmine, who did you give them to?”
Tearful, her gaze met mine, and her chin trembled. “Donna Roberts.”
Three hours later, Chief Romeo had picked up Donna for questioning. I guess the accumulation of evidence warranted her at least being brought down to the police station for further examination. The sleeping pills alone weren’t enough to make her guilty—a lot of people in town took them, so why would an extra pill given by Jasmine have to be a part of the murder?
I imagined the scene taking place at the police station, and tension knit itself up and down my back like a too-tight polyester sweater.
After Jasmine and I had spoken, I’d insisted that we go together to the police station and share the news. That seemed more urgent than Jasmine telling Kent about her indiscretion. But now I had to face Kent and tell him the truth.
I dragged myself toward the front door. As soon as I stepped onto the stoop, Kent opened the door, his eyes on me. Why did I feel like I was the guilty one? Like he was accusing me of doing something wrong? Had I?
I silently walked past him and plopped on the couch. He sat across from me and I explained to him what had happened.
How could Jasmine have done this? She had come into town with no family and no work experience. Several families at church had taken her in. Kent had trained her to be a pharmacy technician, even paying her during in the process.
He rubbed his hands over his face. “This is bad, Laura.”
“DEA bad?”
“They’re probably going to question me as well. I’m the supervising pharmacist.” He shook his head. “I trusted Jasmine. I can’t believe she did this.”
“I think her intentions were good.” I didn’t know whom I felt sorrier for: Jasmine or my husband. “She’s naïve. This would have never come out except that Candace was murdered.”
“Stealing is stealing, no matter which way you look at it.” He ran his hands over his face again. “I don’t think you realize how big a deal this is. There will be an investigation. I could lose my license.”
“Lose your license?” Alarm shot through me. Kent loved his job. What would he do without it? We’d given up everything to come here. Our life couldn’t go down the drain so quickly, could it?
I couldn’t even bring myself to ask any questions. Living in ignorance beat reality at the moment. My thoughts shifted back to Jasmine. I don’t know why she’d warmed my heart so quickly. But I just felt like the girl needed someone on her side.
“Will you fire Jasmine?”
“She’ll probably lose her license.”
“I feel bad for her. She doesn’t have anyone to hold her up, to be in her corner. This has to be hard on her.”
“Who’d she give the extra pills to?”
“Donna.” Despite my optimism that the woman was innocent, I couldn’t stay in denial forever.
“Donna?” He sat up straight. “Why Donna? I was expecting to hear the name of some poor, down-on-their-luck family. Not Donna, who drives around in a Mercedes.”
“Maybe things aren’t always what they seem on the surface. Maybe they’re having financial problems. It can happen to the best of us.”
Sadness pressed in on me as the words left my mouth. Yes, problems could happen to the best of us.
Chapter 19
The phone rang first thing Tuesday morning. After a long, fitful night filled with dreams about Jasmine and Donna, I awoke with a start. I grabbed the phone, fearing the worst: news about my husband being arrested, the pharmacy shutting down, and losing the boring life we’d given up everything to obtain.
Instead, I heard Babe’s voice. “Donna is being held for Candace’s murder.”
I sat up in bed and ran a hand through my matted hair. “Really? Why?”
“You’ll never believe this. You know those wipes Donna’s always bragging about? The ones that clean anything, that you can only buy online?”
I remembered. Magic Wipes. Donna talked about them all the time. You’d think she had stock in the start-up company. “Yeah, I remember.”
“That’s what was used to smother Candace. The report just came back today, I guess. They found trace evidence on Candace’s face and mouth, and they found one of the wipes in the trashcan.”
“No.” I leaned against the headboard—a little too hard. I rubbed the back of my head.
“And her fingerprints were found on the remote that Candace was holding. I guess that, coupled with everything else, gave them enough to hold her. The chief has had a lot of pressure on him to make progress on this case and get the killer off the street.”
With all of that pressure on him, had he made the right decision, though? I supposed Donna had means, motive, and opportunity, although none seemed str
ong enough to charge her. “I expected a bigger reaction from you,” Babe said. I could picture her tapping her foot impatiently.
I searched for the right thing to say. “I guess everyone can sleep better now.” Bad choice of words considering the way we’d found Candace. “Everyone can rest better now. But what was her motive?”
“Don’t know. I’m sure it will all come out soon, though. In the meantime, I’d watch your mailbox.”
“My mailbox?” Was there an announcement about her motives coming to me soon or something?
“I saw her put something in there the other day.”
I tensed. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now that I know she’s guilty, it made me think about what I saw. I looked out my window and saw Donna put something in your mailbox. Now I’m thinking it’s a good thing it wasn’t a bomb or something.”
“Babe—the note? The threatening letter I got?” Her lips parted. “Oh, yeah. Oops.”
My mind reeled. Donna was the one who’d left the banana bread—and the threatening note. Sometimes the answers were obvious. Donna must have assumed Kent knew about Jasmine giving her extra sleeping pills. She must have figured he’d put the puzzle pieces together eventually. But why hadn’t she threatened Jasmine? Sure, Donna took sleeping pills. But so did a lot of other people in Boring.
Why couldn’t Babe have told me that information… oh, I don’t know…two weeks ago?
At least now I could eat in peace. I had to accept the fact that Donna had sent me that threatening letter. Somehow, she’d bugged my house and blown up my shed. Donna was guilty. Wasn’t it always the innocent ones who ended up doing the crime? At least the woman was in jail now.
As soon as Babe and I hung up, the phone rang again. Hillary.
“The debate is cancelled tonight, but we still need to meet to discuss the future of this neighborhood. I’m calling everyone to let them know.”
The debate. I’d nearly forgotten about the pre-election event between Hillary and Donna. “Okay. Thanks.”
Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) Page 13