The Saucy Lucy Murders by Cindy Keen Reynders Read Free Book Online Page B

the rest of the day went by in a blur. Except for the phone call from Barnard Savage, a ruthless reporter for the
Moose Creek Junction Chronicle.
He hammered Lexie with questions about Henry Whitehead and her relationship with him, and then brought up Hugh. Lexie said, “No comment,” several times, and finally hung up.
    Savage was a pure nuisance. She could see him now wearing his press hat and rumpled suit, notebook, and ever present stubby pencil he constantly wet with the tip of his tongue. Once he was onto a good story, he was like a chronic cold you couldn’t shake.
    She kept thinking about poor Henry on a slab in the Westonville morgue. Café customers came and went, but her mind barely registered the fact. All she could think about was who would have wanted Whitehead dead, and why?
    Then she got to thinking about the car that had rammed her truck at the light. Who had been driving? Had they run into her on purpose? And did it have anything to do with Whitehead’s murder?
    Then there was Dan. Last she’d heard, he was still married to Davina and living in California. Hewouldn’t have returned to Moose Creek Junction to cause trouble for her, would he? Was he stalking her? A shiver danced up her spine.
    All of the sudden, she realized what a mess she was in. Just like Otis had said. Good Lord, what if the police decided all the evidence pointed to her as the killer? What would she do then?
    Better get a good attorney.
    With what, she wondered. She had a little bit of money in savings, but not enough to pay for an expensive trial lawyer to save her neck from the gallows. Then again, maybe she could pay him or her with homemade bread and free meals at
The Saucy Lucy Café
for the rest of his or her life.
    Don’t borrow trouble,
she heard her mother’s firm counsel.
    Good advice, of course. No one had said anything about charging Lexie with murder. Just further questioning. That made her relax.
    Still, Whitehead’s untimely death bothered her. She couldn’t help but feel somehow responsible, though she had no idea why. She also couldn’t shake the disturbing idea of wearing orange jumpsuits and visiting with Eva and Lucy through thick Plexiglas.
    That night Lexie went to bed early. Her dreams were fitful and she tossed and turned, unable to sleep a wink. By two a.m. her bed looked like a battlefield.
    Dragging herself out of bed, she showered, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, shoved her tousledhair into a headband and padded downstairs in her ragged slippers to the kitchen. Once her coffee had begun to brew, she balanced her checkbook and paid bills. That done, she swept the kitchen floor, then got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed it with a vengeance, even though it was spic and span after the dishwasher escapade.
    As soon as the sun came up, she went outside and began hoeing what was left of her garden. The second she started hacking at the dusty weeds, she knew she was going to be sorry. Her poor old, nearing-middle-age muscles, were surely going to let her have it once she was done taking out her troubles on the good earth. But what the heck? Maybe she’d be in so much pain she could keep her mind off the murder.
    The sun had nearly melted her into a puddle and she was breathing pretty heavily by the time Eva came out and grabbed her by the shoulder.
    “Mom …
Mom!
”
    Lexie dropped her hoe and swung around to face her daughter. “What?”
    “You’re going at those weeds like a madwoman.”
    Lexie put a hand over her heart, feeling it hammer under her palm. “I am mad. Mad at life.”
    “Well, you’re gonna keel over if you don’t knock it off.”
    Feeling like a mutt who’d been caught digging holes in the yard, Lexie followed her daughter over to an ancient picnic table and sat down. Eva sat across from her, poured a glass of lemonade and slidit across the splintered wood.
    “Drink,” she commanded.
    Lexie swallowed the cool, tart liquid. “Thanks.”
    “What’s up?” Eva