Murder’s always a sin. But it especially feels like sacrilege when I get called from church on a Sunday morning because a body’s been found.
Today’s killing proved once again the sad wisdom of why my husband and I always drove everywhere separately. I left him behind in the air-conditioned comfort of Countryside Fellowship, turned the siren on in my rig, and headed the ten miles out to Bob and Lilly Novinger’s farm. I didn’t actually need the siren. My county’s so rural, I wouldn’t see another car for half the trip. But I wanted to give a shout-out to God. Was Bob’s death really a part of your plan? And if not, could you pay a little more attention to what’s going on down here?
Good Lord, we’re boiling.
We were in the middle of the worst heat wave since the state began keeping records. The temperature hadn’t dropped below ninety in more than a week and was expected to hit 108 degrees this afternoon.
Extreme weather could make people testy—especially people who hold a grudge. Like Bob Novinger’s neighbors. The question for this morning: which one of them had finally boiled over and bumped him off?
They’d all had it in for him ever since he renovated his old dairy barn last year and began renting it out for weddings. Bob was cashing in on a trend—city folk coming to the country to start their married lives with rustic charm. But the neighbors hadn’t found it charming. They’d made a huge fuss at the county council, trying to shut Bob down. There was too much noise, they said. Too much traffic. Too much everything.
But Bob had prevailed. Until now.
It was hard to believe God would let a man be murdered over holding weddings. Yet I knew I shouldn’t be surprised. In the eleven years I’d been county sheriff, I’d encountered enough despicable behavior to conclude that God allows people to make their own choices, with the prospect of punishment waiting in the wings. Perhaps punishment would come from God eventually. But it would definitely come from me first.
As I pulled up to the crime scene, my chief deputy, Jackson Garrett, emerged from the barn, tugging a surgical mask off his lean face. My deputies often wore peppermint-scented masks when dealing with dead bodies. Considering the heat, Bob might already have been emitting an awful smell.
“Hey, boss,” Jackson said when I stepped onto the dirt road. “Someone strangled Mr. Novinger in the barn there. Left him sitting at a table, a laptop open in front of him. He’s already stiff, so it must have happened last night, after the wedding festivities ended.”
Our crime-scene tech and the medical examiner would get us more details, of course, but I never liked waiting. “Strangled him with what?”
“Twinkle lights. They’ve got ’em strung all over the barn. Makes it look festive. Or at least it used to.”
Twinkle lights. That was a first.
“What’s on the laptop?” I asked. “Can you get into it?”
Jackson nodded. “It’s not password protected. Mr. Novinger was looking at a spreadsheet that lists his upcoming barn rentals. I haven’t had time to study it yet, but it seems business was good.”
Just what the neighbors had been afraid of.
“Witnesses? Suspects?” I asked.
“No witnesses so far. Mrs. Novinger said she found her husband just a little while ago. She came out looking for him when she woke up and realized he’d never come to bed.”
“Find out who got married here last night. Maybe someone didn’t want to pay their bill. And get a list of all the wedding guests and personnel—wait staff, caterers, photographers—everyone who worked here last night. And we need the names of the neighbors who complained at the county council meetings last year. The two families in the immediate vicinity were vocal, I know, but there were others just as unhappy.” Speaking of unhappy, I looked around for the widow. “Where’s Lilly?”
Jackson nodded at the old clapboard house across the field. Its peeling white paint shone in the sun, which was beating down so hard, I felt sweat beading up on the back of my neck.
“You know if she’s told anyone about what happened here?”
“Just their daughters. After I questioned her, I told her not to tell anyone how Mr. Novinger died. She said she needed to call her girls, but she’d just tell them that he died, not how. They didn’t need the image in their heads.”
Agreed. I hadn’t seen Bob’s body yet, but no child should have to view a parent after they’d been murdered.
“Anyway, I didn’t want her contaminating the crime scene any more than she had,” Jackson added, “so I told her to go on home.”
“Any more?”
“When she found Mr. Novinger, she thought he’d had a heart attack, so she rushed over and tried to help, but rigor mortis had already set in. I think she was pretty shook up when she realized what had happened.”
Who wouldn’t be?
But was it from finding her husband dead? Or from strangling him herself?
While I figured a neighbor had done Bob in, I knew I shouldn’t overlook Lilly as a possible suspect. First rule in homicide: the spouse probably did it. Still, I had a hard time believing Lilly could have done this. I’d known her all my life. In the winters, she used to waitress at the diner in town to help make ends meet. She was cool. Unsentimental. Strangling someone is the act of an enraged person. I doubted Lilly could ever muster that much emotion.
Jackson and I walked to the barn. He slipped his mask back on and returned to work with the other deputy and our tech, while I stood in the doorway, glancing around. It looked as if wedding cleanup had been completed the night before. No dishes or glassware lay out. A large pile of tablecloths sat on one of the round wooden tables, apparently waiting to be washed. And there was Bob sprawled in his chair. His abundant salt-and-pepper hair had gotten mussed as he apparently tried to fight off his assailant. The twinkle lights still hung around his neck.
I said a quick prayer, then headed over to the house. “Lilly,” I called, knocking on the door. “It’s Sheriff Wescott.” It felt odd using my title, considering how long Lilly and I had known one another. But this was a business call.
The door creaked open. Lilly’s gray hair, usually pulled into a tight bun, was loose. Unkempt. The wrinkled edges of her lips tried to rise into a smile but failed. Lilly was in her late fifties, but grief had added a decade to her face.
“Hello, Ellen.” She sighed, as if saying my name had drained her last bit of strength. “Please come in.”
She led me into the living room, which had a leather couch and recliner—both looked and smelled new. A big flat-screen TV hung over the fireplace. Their wedding business must have been doing well. Folks around here often didn’t have the money to spring on new furnishings, and Bob was known for being frugal.
After Lilly offered me something to drink, which I declined, we settled on the couch. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She frowned, the skin on her face pulling tight. “Bob was out in the barn last night, overseeing a wedding, as usual. I turned in around eleven. Slept like a log. When I awoke this morning, I realized he hadn’t come to bed. The blanket on his side was smooth. I called for him, but he didn’t answer, so I threw on clothes and went looking. I about had a heart attack when I found him.”
“Is it typical for you to turn in while the parties are still going on?”
“Oh, yes. I have no interest in watching people celebrate their love.” She stretched out the last word, as if it were a bad thing. “Waste of money, if you ask me. When Bob and I got married nearly thirty-five years ago, we had a short church ceremony, followed by a luncheon at my mother’s home. Small, inexpensive, and simple.”
“Small and intimate,” I countered. “Sounds romantic.”
She snickered. “I wish. Everybody thinks Bob was Mr. Romance ’cause he started the wedding business. Bunch of fools. Bob wasn’t romantic. He was pragmatic. We’re getting older. Farming’s hard work. We needed an easier way to make money. Weddings are it.… Were it.” Her eyes watered. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”
“Bob have problems with any of his clients?”
She shook her head.
“Any enemies?”
“Sometimes customers didn’t like Bob’s prices, and he could be a tough negotiator. But enemies?” She shook her head faster. “No.”
I leaned forward. “I have to ask. How were things between the two of you?”
“They were fine. The same as ever.”
“Money problems?”
“The new business had solved our money problems. We’re making more than enough to cover the loan Bob took out to rehab the barn and save for our retirement.”
“I’m sorry I have to ask this, but can anyone vouch for your whereabouts last night?”
Her eyebrows rose. “No. I was asleep. Alone.”
Lilly’s lack of an alibi didn’t bother me. People are alone a lot of the time, with no one to verify it. It’s the people with ready alibis for odd times who worry me. I asked a few more polite questions, explained what would happen next with Bob, and headed out.
I’d spent less than twenty minutes in the house, yet the day felt even hotter than before. As I wiped my forehead, I noticed that the medical examiner had arrived. His car was parked outside the barn. I hoped he’d figure out something useful fast. Seconds later, a car came careening down the driveway, straight at me, skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust. Lilly and Bob’s girls, Natalie and Andrea, flew out.
“What the hell happened?” Andrea stormed up to me, her dark blond hair streaming behind her.
“Hey,” Natalie scolded. “Show some respect.”
I’d known the girls all their lives, and they hadn’t changed. Andrea, the younger one, was tall and curvy, all fire and passion, studying to be a paralegal last I heard. Natalie, an accountant, was more serious, like Lilly. She looked like Lilly, too, with her sharp brown eyes, lanky frame, and ashy blond hair pulled up in a bun. They’d always been mama’s girls through and through.
Andrea rolled her eyes. “Fine. I respectfully ask what the hell happened? Mom called and said Dad had died, but we’re driving over and that busybody Teresa Templeton said on the radio that he’d been murdered.”
So much for keeping things quiet.
“She didn’t say murdered,” Natalie corrected. “Stop jumping to conclusions. She said that a body had been found on the farm and a neighbor had reported hearing gunshots last night.”
Gunshots? That was news to me.
Natalie drew a shaky breath. “We’re guessing Dad was the body?”
This was never easy. “Yes. I’m sorry to inform you that your father was killed last night in the barn. I can’t tell you any more than that right now. We’re doing everything we can to find out what happened.”
“Who would kill Dad?” Andrea asked.
“That’s a good question. You know anyone who had a beef with your father?”
Both girls shook their heads.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“We came over for dinner last Sunday, as usual,” Natalie said, while Andrea nodded.
“Things okay between him and your mom?”
Andrea rolled her eyes again. “Of course.”
It was amazing how many children think their parents’ marriages have no problems, considering how many marriages went kaput these days.
I thanked the girls, headed to my rig, and radioed my dispatcher. “You get any calls about gunshots last night?”
“No,” she said. “Why?”
“The radio is supposedly reporting someone heard gunshots out here.”
“First I’ve heard of it. I’ll keep an ear out.”
“Thanks,” I said before signing off.
Minutes later I pulled up the long drive to Curtis and Debra Randall’s farm, passing wandering cows and a barn that had seen better days. The Randalls lived next door to Bob and Lilly—though the term “next door” could be misleading. While the Randalls’ property line ran near Bob and Lilly’s house, their homes were separated by a quarter mile. The Randalls’ house sat at the top of a rise, though, so they had a clear view of the Novingers’ house and barn.
As soon as I opened my truck door, a rancid smell hit me, making me gag. It was like a combination of excrement, raw eggs, and ripe, dead meat. Holding my breath, I hurried to the house and banged on the door. Debra opened it, winced, and waved me quickly inside.
“Ellen,” she said, once she shut the door. “What can I do for you?”
I panted for a moment. With the air conditioner running full blast, the air was better inside, but the horrendous odor did linger a bit. “What was that smell?”
“Cow.” She shook her head, her dark hair swishing against her slim shoulders.
“Cow?” I blinked at her and then realized. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes. This damn heat is killing ’em. Curtis, the boys, and our workers are out there now, trying to keep ’em cool and watered. We’ve had three die from heat exhaustion this week. The one that died last night exploded. The guts must have flown twenty yards. That’s what you’re smelling.” She sighed. “If she’d died during the day, we’d have noticed and could’ve dealt with the body. But that poor cow must’ve been lying dead in the field for hours while we slept, her body gasses expanding in the heat until . . . boom.”
I shivered. Dead-cow explosions were an unfortunate happenstance during heat waves in farm country. Sometimes they made the news, serving as a source of amusement for folks in other areas. But here, heat-related cow deaths could be a major financial loss. And dealing with scattered guts wasn’t something anyone wanted to do.
Debra gave me a weak smile. “But you probably didn’t come here to talk about exploding cows,” she said, leading me to her big kitchen. “So how can I help you?”
I was surprised she didn’t know what had happened at the Novinger farm, considering her proximity and how word had already spread—especially since we didn’t have that many murders around here. Or did she know about it and was just being sly?
“Can you tell me what you did last night?” I asked as we sat at the table.
Her eyes widened. “Why? Did something happen?”
I kept my mouth shut, figuring she’d talk if I didn’t. After a few seconds, she proved me right, saying, “We were here, dealing with the cows.”
“Can anyone vouch for that?”
“The children.” She had four boys, all teenagers. “And some of our workers stayed late, helping. We didn’t head in till nearly eleven.”
“Did you see or hear anything unusual last night?”
“No.”
“Nothing from the Novinger farm?”
“No. Why?”
“How have things been between your family and the Novingers? Curtis made quite a ruckus last year over their wedding business.”
“You can say that again. He was certain we’d lose our peace and quiet. But it hasn’t been bad like Curtis had expected. Why? Is someone saying we’ve complained recently? Because we haven’t. In fact, I took Lilly and Bob a pie just last month, trying to be neighborly.”
“How’d that go over?”
Debra shrugged. “Lilly was polite, but I got the impression I was interrupting. She had travel magazines spread out.” She leaned forward. “She and Bob are going to renew their vows and have a big party when their anniversary comes up in the fall. Can you believe it? Then they’re taking off to someplace exotic. Hawaii, I think.”
“Bob Novinger is paying for a big party and a trip to Hawaii?”
His business must have been doing really well.
“The first weekend in November, Lilly said. Anyway, when she accepted my pie, I thought she was accepting my apology for Curtis causing such a fuss last year. Though, come to think of it, she didn’t offer me any of the pie. And she never returned my plate, either.”
The back door opened, and Curtis walked into the kitchen, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. His clothes were dirty, he had deep bags under his eyes, and he reeked of cow guts. I tried not to cringe.
“I saw your truck, Sheriff. Is everything all right?”
Debra opened her mouth, but I jumped in first. “Can you tell me where you were last night, Curtis?”
He squinted, appearing confused. “Sure. I was here with the team, trying to keep the cows safe.”
“All night?” I asked.
He walked closer, and I shifted away from the smell. “Yeah, all night,” he said. “We were out in the field with the cows till late. Then I woke up early to check on ’em.” He shook his head. “We lost one overnight, between the time I came in to get some shut eye and got up. It’s a shame. She was a good milker.”
“Can anyone verify all this?” I asked. “Outside your family and the people who work for you, I mean?”
He sputtered. “What the heck is going on?”
“I’ve been asking that same question,” Debra said.
I stared Curtis down. “No,” he finally said. “Well, maybe Bob Novinger. On party nights, I often see him coming and going from his house to the barn. Given the traffic last night, I assume he had another wedding going on. So he might have seen us last night.”
How I wished Bob Novinger could alibi anyone this morning. After Curtis said he hadn’t seen or heard anything odd last night, I broke the news of Bob’s murder. Their shock appeared genuine. They couldn’t suggest anyone who might have done it, saying the rest of the neighbors had also grown to accept Bob’s business, that it wasn’t as disruptive as they’d feared.
“Though Mac Tucker has had a bit of trouble,” Curtis said. Tucker’s farm was directly across the road from the Novingers’. “At least twice, idiots attending weddings in Bob’s barn have snuck onto Mac’s land and tried to tip his cows. Only someone not raised on a farm would think you can tip over a twelve-hundred-pound cow by giving it a push. All you get is an angry cow.”
And maybe an angry farmer.
I thanked Curtis and Debra and headed out to see Mac Tucker. He ran a bigger operation than Curtis did, with a large number of workers. I thought Mac would be slogging in the fields, so I was surprised to find him rocking on his porch, flipping through a copy of Rack magazine, which—despite its name—is actually about hunting.
“Sheriff.” He nodded at me as I approached. He had a gray five o’clock shadow coming in early. “I sure am popular today.”
“How so?”
“First that lady reporter from the radio called me, and now here you are.”
Wow, was he a throwback. He probably thought of me as the lady sheriff.
“So someone finally plugged Bob Novinger,” Mac said. As my eyes widened, he added, “Naw. I didn’t do it. But with all the cops at the barn this morning, and then the medical examiner driving up, stands to reason.”
I stepped onto the porch, getting out of the direct sun. Unfortunately, the air was so thick, the shade barely helped. “I heard you’ve had trouble with some of Bob’s guests.”
Mac set the magazine down and spit tobacco juice over the porch rail. “Stupid city kids think it’d be fun to try tipping my cows. The last pair I put a good scare in, shooting my shotgun into the air. They ran like hell for the fence. One of them fell climbing over it and ripped his fancy suit. I’d say we was even.”
“And last night? Did you have problems then?”
“Other than having to listen to that danged ‘Celebration’ song again? It used to be quiet out here at night. Peaceful. Now there’s music and hollering till way too late.”
“You can hear the noise up here?”
“When the wind carries a certain way, I can.”
“You hear anything last night? Besides Kool & the Gang?”
Mac spit again. “I was awoken by a loud noise at some point. Didn’t realize it was a gunshot till I saw all the police cars pull up this morning. That’s what I told that lady reporter.”
So Mac was the source of the shooting rumor. I’d have Jackson check if there’s any evidence of shooting in the barn, but chances are, Mac was just jumping to conclusions. Or maybe Mac was trying to throw my suspicions elsewhere by pretending he didn’t know Bob was strangled. Maybe the loss of his peace and quiet had stuck in his craw far more than he wanted me to believe.
“Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts last night?”
“Nope. I was sleeping by my lonesome.”
There was a lot of that going around. I thanked Mac and left. As soon as I got in my rig with the blessed air conditioning, my phone rang. Jackson.
“I’ve got something,” he said.
Thank the Lord. My interviews had yielded some suspicions but not many answers.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m sitting in my truck outside the Novingers’ barn.”
“I’ll be right there. Oh, by the way, you see any evidence of gunfire in or near the barn?”
“No. Should I?”
“Not necessarily. But ask the team to keep an eye out.”
“You got it, boss.”
A couple of minutes later, I joined Jackson in his truck, adjusting his air-conditioning vent so the cool air blew right at me. He’d ditched his face mask but now wore latex gloves.
“I was talking with one of the men who worked for Mr. Novinger,” Jackson said. “He helped him set up tables and chairs, things like that. He said some rich guy showed up a few days ago to check out Mr. Novinger’s barn. The guy’s daughter attended a wedding there and loved it so much she wants to be married there, too. But Mr. Novinger wouldn’t take the guy’s reservation.”
“Why not?”
“The date he wanted was already booked. The guy tried to give Mr. Novinger extra money to dump the existing reservation, but Mr. Novinger wouldn’t do it. So the guy left. Mad.”
“Mad enough to kill?”
“I don’t know, but it probably doesn’t matter because the guy ultimately got what he wanted. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Kept calling Mr. Novinger and offering more and more money, until Mr. Novinger caved and accepted the reservation. This all happened right before last evening’s guests began arriving.”
My eyebrows climbed toward my hairline. “Bob always knew the value of a dollar, but he also was a man of his word. I’m surprised he’d cancel an existing reservation like that. Who’d he screw over? That’s probably our culprit.”
“I don’t know that either.” Jackson opened the laptop that had been sitting between us. “Here’s the list of reservations. It appears Mr. Novinger already updated it. But once we get his phone records, we can see who he called and disappointed last evening.”
I reached into Jackson’s glove compartment for a pair of latex gloves. My deputies always carried spares; you never knew when they’d be needed. After snapping the gloves on, I picked up the laptop and scrolled down the screen. Bob’s business had been booming. He had nearly every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday booked through the end of the year with hefty down payments.
“There.” Jackson pointed. “That must be the wedding for the guy who weaseled his way onto the schedule. You see Mr. Novinger typed yesterday’s date with the notation ‘waiting on deposit.’”
I stopped scrolling at the autumn listing for the Rachel Simmons/Liam Ryan wedding. I could hardly believe it, but I knew who’d killed Bob Novinger.
* * * *
A short while later, I returned to Bob and Lilly’s house. I was glad I hadn’t changed out of my church clothes before heading out on the investigation this morning. My blouse and skirt were more appropriate than a uniform for paying a condolence call.
“Ellen, you’re back soon,” Lilly said, opening the door. “Have you learned anything?”
“I think so.”
“Please, come in.”
We went to the living room, which was hopping with people. Word about Bob’s “shooting” had spread all over the local grapevine thanks to Mac’s chat with that reporter. So folks had come out, as expected, to pay their respects. In addition to Lilly’s daughters, there were several cousins, nieces, and nephews, as well as friends and neighbors, including Debra and Curtis Randall. The room got quiet, everyone staring at me expectantly.
“Maybe we could talk privately, Lilly.”
Natalie and Andrea rose, evidently expecting to join in on this conversation.
“I’d like to talk to your mom alone for a few minutes if you don’t mind,” I said.
Her full lips pursed, Andrea clearly minded. “You sure you want to talk to the sheriff alone, Mom?”
“Of course. It’s fine.” Lilly shooed the girls back to the couch. “We can talk in the kitchen, Ellen.”
I watched Curtis Randall eyeing me as I headed out of the room, down a short hallway. When Lilly and I entered the kitchen, my mouth watered. Food lay everywhere. Cakes and casseroles and what smelled like chicken parmesan. I understood why folks brought food after a death. They wanted to help. To do something. But so much food always felt a little unseemly, as if the death was being celebrated.
“Can I get you something?” Lilly asked.
It was even more unseemly for a widow to be offering me food on the day her husband died. And worse that my stomach gurgled in response. But it was past lunchtime. I sheepishly helped myself to a cookie and sat at the kitchen table.
“It’s nice so many people have come over today,” I said, swallowing the last of the crumbs. I could hear someone talking about Bob in the other room. “Sharing memories must be comforting. I remember, must be twenty-five years ago now, when Bob got into a fender bender down on Main Street. He’d been turning left, and someone clipped his back bumper. The darn thing fell off. I was on patrol, and I had to give Bob the ticket because the other guy had the right of way, even though Bob was adamant he hadn’t been at fault. Boy, was he angry.”
“I don’t remember the incident, but I’m not surprised. Bob pinched every penny he could.”
“Even now? That’s some nice new furniture you have in the living room.”
She glowered. “After we started doing well with the wedding business, Bob decided he didn’t want a saggy couch anymore. And he wanted a big TV to watch the games.”
“What did you want?”
“Me? Nothing. This wasn’t a time to dip into our savings. We still needed to keep putting money away for a rainy day. We still had to pay off that loan.”
I nodded. “It’s funny, isn’t it? You were finally doing okay financially because of all these short-sighted people, spending a king’s ransom for weddings. You and Bob did it the right way. A church ceremony, followed by a small, inexpensive luncheon at home.”
“That’s right.”
Sighing, I shook my head slightly. “Of course, a small luncheon at home didn’t allow you to have all the guests you probably wanted.”
“Well, no.”
“And you didn’t have the chance to pick out flower arrangements and a band and all that fun stuff. And you probably didn’t go on a big honeymoon, did you?”
“Honeymoon? We had two days at a bed-and-breakfast an hour north of here. It wasn’t even that nice.”
“Which must be why you wanted to make your next anniversary special. It would have been your thirty-fifth, right? I heard you were planning a big ceremony where you’d renew your vows and then take a trip to Hawaii.”
She blinked. “That’s true, we were.” She paused. “Not that it makes any difference now.” The next words seemed to catch in her throat. “Ellen, do you have any idea who killed Bob?”
Oh, I did, but I wasn’t going to say so. “Who do you think did it?”
“I can’t even guess. You asked about enemies this morning. The neighbors are the only people who’ve been upset with us. They were worried about the noise when Bob started the business. But surely none of them are responsible. They’ve all come around. We were going to invite them all when we renewed our vows in the fall.”
“I bet that would’ve been nice, being the center of attention after all these years. Finally having money spent on something special for you.” I leaned forward and grasped Lilly’s hand. “Folks have always called you unsentimental, but you were just saving face, weren’t you, because Bob would never spring for nice dinners or flowers or anything to show you he loved you.” My mouth twisted in a grimace. “But he could buy that big-screen TV out there.”
Lilly stared down at the wooden table.
“So it must have made your day when Bob agreed to have a big party to celebrate your upcoming anniversary. It was finally going to be your turn.”
“That’s right.” She glanced up, her eyes watering.
“Except you weren’t going to get your turn after all, were you, Lilly? Bob chose money over you again, didn’t he?”
She paled and pulled her hand from mine.
“I saw his bookings spreadsheet,” I explained. “The first Saturday in November’s going to be the Simmons/Ryan wedding, not your vow-renewal ceremony.”
She shook her head no repeatedly. “I can see where you’re going with this, Ellen, but you’re wrong.”
How I wished I were. It didn’t feel right, thinking Lilly had killed Bob, but the pieces fit.
“Am I wrong?” I asked as the landline phone rang once, then stopped. “I saw the down-payment amount Bob listed on the spreadsheet. It was ten thousand more than he required of everyone else. That’s what he sold you out for. A measly ten thousand dollars.”
Lilly kept shaking her head. “No. I never—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Natalie said, walking into the kitchen with her sister in tow. “Mom, that was Harlow Springer from the funeral home on the phone. He heard about what happened to Dad and wanted to know if you feel up to dealing with the funeral details. He said Dad told him a while back that you’d both use him,” she took a deep breath, “when the time came, but you never made any actual plans.”
“That was just something your father said at a Rotary meeting to get Harlow off his back,” Lilly said. “Besides, we never thought the time would come so soon.” She blinked several times. “I can’t deal with this now. You girls take care of it, all right? Just be careful with the money. Stay middle of the road. Nothing too expensive.”
“Sure, Mom,” Natalie said in a quiet voice. “We’ll choose the casket and all that stuff. And don’t worry. We won’t go too fancy. Just something with a pretty lining so Dad’ll look right for the viewing.”
“The viewing?” Andrea said. “We can’t have a viewing. Then everyone would see the marks on Dad’s ne—” She stopped short, her eyes wide. “I mean the mole, that ugly mole on his neck.”
Oh my God. I should’ve listened to my gut. I’d pinned this on the wrong person. The only way Andrea could know about the marks on Bob’s neck was if she’d made them. Everyone else thought Bob had been shot.
Lilly jumped up, her mouth hanging open. She clearly was as surprised as I was. “You girls go on.” She tried unsuccessfully to push them from the room. “The sheriff and I have things to talk about.” Lilly turned to me as I stood. “You were right, Ellen,” she said, talking rapidly now. “Bob chose money over me again. When we were struggling I could understand. But now we’re doing okay. Okay enough that he spent money on himself, but my dreams, those were disposable. I got so mad that I…I killed him.”
“Mother!” Natalie cried while Andrea’s face paled.
It was admirable how Lilly was trying to protect her child. And disturbing how Andrea was keeping her mouth shut.
“I knew it,” I said in my sternest tone. “But I need to hear it from you, Lilly. All the details. The judge will want to know everything before he sends you to prison.”
Her lips quivered at the word prison. “Well, Bob came into the house as I was about to go to sleep,” Lilly said. “Told me how that spoiled girl was getting my party date. I couldn’t believe it. He went back out to the wedding, while I…I stewed for hours, waiting for the party to end so I could tell Bob what I thought of him.”
Her voice had gone up half an octave after she paused. That was probably where the lie began.
“Finally I heard the last of the cars leave,” Lilly said, “and I stormed out. And there he was, sitting there, playing with his computer like he didn’t have a care in the world. My face got so hot, I thought I’d have a stroke. So I grabbed the twinkle lights, and I killed him.”
I glanced at Andrea. Her lips were clamped shut. She was actually going to let her mother take the rap for her.
“Okay,” I said. “Lilly Novinger, you have the right to remain silent—”
“No!” Andrea yelled. “You can’t arrest her. She didn’t do it. I did. She’s covering for me.”
Lilly narrowed her eyes. “Hush up.”
“No.” Andrea crossed the kitchen straight to me. Finally her conscience had woken up. “Mom called me late last night, upset because Dad had given away her party date, just like she said, but it was me who went into the barn to talk to him, not Mom.”
“Andrea, be quiet,” Lilly said.
“No, I won’t. Dad said he couldn’t pass up that much money, that Mom could have her event some other time. Like it was nothing. I began telling him what I thought of him, how he was a selfish, money-grubbing jerk, and he told me to calm down, that I was being hysterical. I hate it when men tell women they’re being hysterical. It’s so sexist. And then he turned his back on me and sat down at the computer. I wanted to squeeze the living daylights out of him. So I did. I grabbed some of those damned twinkle lights—twinkle lights Mom was supposed to have at her party—and I choked him from behind.”
“She’s lying,” Lilly yelled. “I did it.”
Andrea sighed. “I’m not lying. Mom’s trying to cover for me, and I appreciate that, Mom, so much.” She grabbed Lilly’s hand. “But I can’t you let you do it. Sheriff, you’ll find my fingerprints on the twinkle lights. Not Mom’s. She’s never had anything to do with the business.”
I noticed how quiet the house had become. The kitchen had afforded just the right amount of privacy. Clearly all of Lilly’s friends and family had heard the confession, as I’d hoped. It’s always nice to have witnesses.
Including Jackson. “Boss, you want me to do the honors?” he asked, stepping into the room.
I nodded. I’d asked him to come over a few minutes after I did so he could be here at the appropriate moment. My church clothes didn’t have a place for hiding handcuffs.
Andrea stood tall, as if trying to prepare herself for what was to come. Lilly fell back into her chair, tears flowing down her cheeks, while Natalie leaned against the counter, looking sucker-punched. I felt sorry for all of them. Lilly had waited so long for so little, and now she’d lost her husband and one of her daughters just like that. Andrea would probably be going away for a long time.
After Jackson read Andrea her rights, he led her out of the house. Everyone in the living room followed, got into their cars, and drove away, giving Lilly and Natalie their privacy. Debra and Curtis Randall walked with me to my truck. I fanned myself with my hand. The heat was unbearable.
“If I hadn’t heard that with my own ears, I wouldn’t believe it,” Debra said.
Neither would a lot of people, which was one reason I’d been glad to see all those folks in the living room when I arrived—all the better to have the confession overheard, even though I’d guessed wrong about who had done it. But, hey, not every sheriff could get two confessions for the same crime.
“And all along I thought Bob had been shot,” Curtis said.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m pretty sure the noise that woke Mac Tucker last night wasn’t a gunshot at all. It was your cow exploding.”
“Wow,” Curtis said. “Talking about the cows, we better get back home to check on—”
Boom! An explosion erupted from the Randalls’ farm. I turned toward the blast and saw chunks of something flying right at us. Holy cow! It was cow! I ducked, covering my head and face, trying not to vomit, as the pieces rained down on us and a rancid smell whooshed our way.
Really, God? Really? I caught a murderer and this was the thanks I got? Cow guts all over me?
And these were my church clothes, too.
Barb Goffman has won the Agatha, Macavity, and Silver Falchion awards for her short stories, and she’s been a finalist for national crime short-story awards nineteen times: ten times for the Agatha (a record in that category), four for the Macavity, three for the Anthony, and once each for the Derringer and Silver Falchion awards. Her book Don’t Get Mad, Get Even won the Silver Falchion for the best collection of 2013. Barb runs a freelance editing and proofreading service and is a coeditor of the Chesapeake Crimes series. She lives with her dog in Winchester, Virginia, and has never actually seen—or smelled—an exploding cow. She blogs at www.SleuthSayers.org and www.PensPawsandClaws.com/blog. Learn more at www.barbgoffman.com.