“Shut up, Gladys,” Harold said. “You were the one who was organizing meals to be taken to her house for the next two weeks.”
Laughter rang out as Gladys glared at her husband. “You know what they say,” she said, “revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“Thirty years is a long time to wait to get even,” Iris replied. “I wouldn’t wait that long to get even with someone.”
Roger Tinsdall looked at me. “Was revenge the only reason Ms. Cosgrove gave for killing Amos, Lizzie?” I nodded. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to over money and pride.”
“People have been killed for less than that, Mr. Tinsdall,” I said. “I seem to remember some people in your hardware store who thought I had overheard some deep, dark secrets. You didn’t want them to be made public.”
Roger looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that, Lizzie. Some of the men in town had been secretly meeting about finding a way to deal with Amos. When we saw him dead in the park, our first thought was that someone in the group had done it. I felt there was no reason to say anything until we knew for sure what had happened. That’s what we were talking about when you came in that morning.”
“Sounds like Amos’ days were numbered,” Harold said. “Someone was bound to kill him sooner or later.”
I paid my bill and left. I found it rather disturbing that people I had known my whole life had actually spent time trying to figure out how to get rid of the one man who made everyone’s life miserable.
“Crenshaw!” Dale Gordon said from behind me. I sighed and stopped. “You have my article ready?”
I turned around. “Are you serious? I get held hostage and you want me to worry about writing you a bloody article?”
“You promised you’d cover the story from beginning to end.”
“And you guaranteed that I could write the story without any interference from you,” I reminded him. “It has been a very wild weekend. My brain is on overload, and I’m still trying to process everything I have learned. Do not push me right now, Dale.”
He glared at me for a minute. “Fine,” he said, chomping on the end of his cigar. “I want that article on my desk tomorrow morning, first thing.”
I walked off. “You’ll get it when I write it. Don’t call or email me asking for it. You’ll have it this week.” I heard him mumble behind me. “Dale, one more thing,” I said, turning to face him. “I expect you to pay me five hundred dollars for this story.”
“Are you crazy?” he sputtered. His face changed color so fast I thought he was going to have a stroke.
“Nope, I’m not crazy. Take it or leave it. I’m sure I can sell it as an exclusive story to the major networks. Of course, that means they would scoop you, and you wouldn’t get any national coverage for your puny little newspaper. But hey, if that’s the way you want it…” I shrugged and walked away.
“Alright, Crenshaw, you win! But not a penny more! And I want it on my desk by Tuesday morning!”
I just waved as I left.
Earline woke up Sunday afternoon, and true to his word, Owen had her arrested for Amos’ murder. When he told her everything he knew about the plan, she clammed up and asked for a lawyer. Owen said she’d probably claim she was a battered wife, but considering the women planned it, I figured she’d get life without parole.
The biggest news came on Sunday evening. Owen and T.J. showed up at my house with grim looks on their faces. “I take it this isn’t a social call,” I said as they came inside.
“The crime techs went over my patrol car,” Owen replied. “They didn’t find any human remains.”
“Excuse me?”
“What Owen is trying to say…Debra’s body wasn’t in the car. No bones, no ashes, nothing.”
“Are you trying to tell me she managed to get out of the car before it burned to a crisp?”
“It looks that way. I don’t think there’s any way she got out of it without injuries. We’ve put in calls to area hospitals, asking them to let us know if a woman comes in with burns or any type of injury sustained in a car accident. I’m sure it won’t be long before we hear something.”
“Should I be worried?”
“I don’t think so, at least not right now. She wouldn’t risk coming back to town so soon, knowing we are looking for her. Honestly, I don’t think she’ll ever come back.”
“The same way you thought she wouldn’t survive the crash?” Owen didn’t answer. “I suppose you want me to let you know if she contacts me.”
He nodded. “I’m real sorry, Lizzie.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, Owen. Mother has been saying she wanted me to live a more exciting life.”
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t what she had in mind,” T.J. replied.
I had to agree with him about that. Owen left, but T.J. stayed behind. “I was wondering if we could have that dinner we missed out on last night.”
“We ate dinner together last night.”
“But not the meal we had planned. There’s an ice chest in the car with all the ingredients I need. Mind if I stay?”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, “after I do this.” He pulled me into his arms and gave me an ice-melting, heart-stopping kiss. “Be right back.”
I leaned against the doorframe as he walked out to his car. At that moment, I wasn’t worried about a crazy, murderous aunt, or how to explain the weekend to my mother.
Just for tonight, it was all about the hunky deputy and me.
Oh boy!
I hope you enjoyed this novella as much as I did writing it. I am currently working on the next book in the series, Death Makes the Front Page.
You can follow me on Twitter (@Jamersmom). I have two websites, www.myfunnyviewoflife.com, for updates on the next story, and at www.teresaleewatson.com, my freelance editing website. Please let me know what you think of the story by sending me an email at [email protected]
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The daughter of a Methodist minister, I’ve spent most of my life in Texas and New Mexico. I graduated from West Texas A&M University with a bachelor’s degree in 2000. Among my many titles, I am a daughter, sister, granddaughter, mother, wife, freelance editor and writer. I currently live in North Texas with my husband and son. Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot is my first novella.
Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries) Page 9