Chapter Thirty-One

The kitchen clock indicated the sun should be bringing light to Saturday morning. But massive rain clouds were doing an excellent job of hiding that big ball of heat in the sky.

Despite all the caffeine that pumped a continuous flow of adrenaline to the system, I did manage to get a few hours of shut-eye during the night. I spent the last hour and twenty minutes scanning old newspapers. Stories with headlines like, Murder comes to small town and, Police have no suspects in the Ethel Johnson murder, got a thorough read.

Neither story contained any new information. As a matter of fact, somebody at the paper wasn't doing their job. Where was the red strand of cheap wig hair? And why didn't they know about the lipstick found on Ethel's sleeve? God, Betsy, I miss you.

I came close to picking up the telephone and reaming a certain someone out good. But Miss Pesky reminded me of the promise I made to myself the day my lifestyle got a complete overhaul. For six months, there will be no interference whatsoever in the daily operations of the business. You will deliver papers to your customers and leave the rest to the one in charge, that inner voice repeated word for word inside my head.

The outer edge of Thursday's paper I was reading got slightly ripped when I flipped to the next page. I started to read Ethel's obituary and felt tears begin to boil over my lower eyelids. It just wasn't fair. The woman's health was excellent for a seventy-year-old. The old girl still had several good years left in her, too. Whoever took that from her deserved to be punished, severely. I'm not a diehard supporter of the death penalty. But in this case, I'd throw the switch, or give the lethal injection Pennsylvania is now using to kill off its death row inmates.

I finished the heart-sickening write up about this good and gracious woman, making a mental note of the ten o'clock scheduled funeral service. I also took special notice to the last line that said contributions could be sent to the local foster care program. That was what I'd do then, since I forgot to call and order flowers to be delivered to the funeral home.

Before I went upstairs to root around for something appropriate to wear to the service, I dug out my checkbook and wrote out a check to the foster care program. I did try Alicia's dorm again also before I finally did make my way upstairs.