The Fallen Angels Book Club by R. Franklin James Read Free Book Online Page A

squeezed my fingers. Tears slipped down her pale cheek. “Now my daughter’s gone. I miss her and I miss my window. Tell Mr. Mitchell to sell everything else. Not my window.”
    â€œI’ll let him know. I won’t let anything happen to your window. I’m going to your house in a few days to take an inventory. I’ll make sure the window is excluded from the real estate listing papers.”
    I patted her hand and with a fragile smile, she waved me off like a servant.
    Marla sat in the community room. “Hello, sweetie, it’s so good to see you.”
    Bending over, I gave her a light kiss on her upturned cheek. “Good Morning. How are you?”
    â€œEvery day I wake up is a good day,” she chuckled.
    It was a ritual we went through. She walked around with two pairs of eyeglasses, evidence Tiny’s son had made sales inroads at the center. Tall and thin, Marla wore pale blue jeans with an elastic waist and a bright yellow button-up sweater. Her almond-white hair was cut short and a little uneven, thanks to one of the seniors who used to be a barber before he got the shakes.
    I took a cup and saucer from the counter. “You’re looking well. Are you ready to fill out forms?”
    She raised herself out of the chair and squinted at me. “Come closer, I don’t want you to say anything, but there’s something wrong with Lily.”
    I wanted to point out that there were likely a lot of things wrong with Lily, but instead, I took my cue from her loud whisper. “What’s the matter?”
    â€œI think she’s getting the wrong medicine.” She turned and looked over her shoulder.
    There was no one there.
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œI don’t want to talk now. Can you come back on Friday? I know you don’t usually come on that day, but Friday’s when Joseph is gone.”
    Joseph was a nurse practitioner at the center. He looked to be in his forties, with a quarter-sized purple birthmark near the beginning of his hairline. He was cordial to me, and appeared to be professional and caring. I didn’t see him that often and, when we passed each other in the halls, our brief exchanges centered on weather, sports and traffic conditions.
    â€œSure. I have some office things to get done, but I can be here in the late afternoon on Friday.”
    We agreed I should come at four.
    That seemed to satisfy her. “Now, sweetie, what’s up with you? You seem bothered today.”
    I had to laugh. At seventy-nine, Marla liked to think she kept up with the latest slang. “One of our book club members was killed a few days ago.”
    â€œThey think you did it?”
    I dropped my pen on the floor. A year ago Marla confided in me about her husband, who died full of bitterness trying to defend his name against a political opponent. In a moment of weakness, without going into a lot of detail, I shared my own loss of reputation. She promised to keep my confidence. Still, it threw me off balance when, from time to time, she made a reference to my past. I began to regret my possibly misplaced trust.
    â€œI don’t know—maybe.” I retrieved my pen.
    â€œWell, I don’t think you could ever do something like that. When my Leland was alive, he worked for the DA’s office. I can’t tell you how many times he looked someone in the eye and could tell they were guilty. I look into your eyes, and I don’t think you’re guilty.”
    I squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you. Now, let’s get to those forms.”
    While the police would give no credence to Marla’s rather subjective litmus test, it made me feel a little better.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    B y the time I got to our club meeting, the wall I’d built to contain my anxiety had started to crack. I mistakenly sent certified mail to myself and had to make three attempts before I remembered the main phone number to the office. Everyone was already in