Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) by Patricia H. Rushford Read Free Book Online Page A

us?”
    “I’m working on it.”
    Minutes later, Candace, the children, and Anna gathered around the table. Anna asked that they hold hands for grace. Her brief prayer offered thanks for the food and blessings for family and friends. She omitted any mention of Phillip Jenkins’s death, most likely for the children’s sake. She concluded with an amen, and they all raised their heads. All, that is, except Dorothy.
    With her eyes tightly shut, she added a petition of her own. “And bless my daddy and Jesus in heaven. Amen.”
    “Thank you, Dorothy.” Candace, eyes filled with tears, ran a hand over her small daughter’s hair and kissed her cheek.
    “Who sits there?” Brian pointed to Angel’s father’s place at the head of the table.
    “My husband, Frank,” Anna answered. “He’s not feeling well.”
    The place had been set as it usually was but remained conspicuously empty. Eating was a chore for Frank. He had to wear a bib to catch the drool that flowed out of his drooping mouth and down his chin.
    “When are the police going to talk to me?” Candace asked, bringing Angel out of her reverie.
    “I’m not sure. Tonight, maybe tomorrow.”
    “You said you would go back out to the farm and get what we’ll need to stay overnight. I probably should go with you, but I hate to leave the kids.” Candace still wore a confused expression. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she dabbed them away with a tissue. She stirred her soup and took a tentative sip.
    “You don’t need to come with me. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll go as soon as we’ve finished eating.”
    Candace nodded and turned toward Anna. “It’s so good of you to have us.”
    “I’m happy for the company.”
    Shifting her gaze to Angel, Candace said, “I don’t know what I would have done without you today. Thanks again for coming.”
    Angel wasn’t sure how to respond, so she didn’t. She examined the spoon as she dipped it into the soup, filling it with vegetables and a piece of chicken, and lifted it to her mouth. The soup was as good as it looked. Too bad Callen wasn’t there to enjoy it with them.
    Candace sighed. “I suppose I have to make arrangements for the funeral. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
    “We can call Tim after dinner if you like,” Anna offered. “He’s the pastor of St. Matthews. Unless you have a church.”
    “Tim? Oh, you mean Pastor Delaney. He’s related to you?”
    “My son.”
    “I hadn’t made the connection. We only went once. Phillip said we should start going to church again.” She glanced around the table. “I liked him. I think Phillip did too. Yes, if he wouldn’t mind.”
    “He’ll be more than happy to help with the arrangements.” Anna picked up the basket of homemade rolls she’d made and passed them around.
    Gracie, who’d been brooding since they sat down, took a roll and buttered it. She gave Candace a hard, cold stare. “Why are you acting so sad? I’m glad he’s dead, and so are you.”
    Candace stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath. “Gracie, you mustn’t talk like that. Your father loved us.”
    Gracie sneered. “Yeah, right. He hurt you. He deserved to die.”
    Turning her apologetic gaze to Anna then to Angel, Candace said, “I’m sorry. She isn’t usually like this.”
    “Like what?” Gracie threw down her napkin. “Honest? You’re right about that. It’s hard to be honest around a person who slaps you when you try to express an opinion that happens to be different from his.”
    “It was the alcohol. We’ve talked about that.” Candace clenched her fist around the cloth napkin in her lap. Tears gathered in her eyes again. “He promised he’d quit. He was trying. He was a good man, but the alcohol made him lose control sometimes.”
    Gracie threw her roll on the plate and pushed her chair away from the table. “If he loved us, he would have stopped, Mama.He would have.” Turning to Anna she said, “May I be excused, please?”
    “Of