Death on a Deadline

hopefully leading, “Oh?”
    Mama glared at me, and I could see she knew I was trying to launch a little investigation of my own. How do mothers do that?
    “Hank did love you, Marge,” Lois said soothingly.
    “Yes, I’m sure he did, but you know as well as I do, by the time the bridge club meets Monday they’ll be wondering if I murdered him.” Marge squeaked on the last word.
    The Llewellen sisters gasped and even Mama looked a little nonplussed. This visit had suddenly gone from obligatory to interesting.
    “No, they won’t!” Mama and Lois chorused.
    I opened my mouth to gently ask why they would think that, but before I could speak, Marge burst out, “Oh, yes, they will.” Her gaze darted from side to side, and she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know how people talk.” She nodded to Mama. “Look at how the news spread about Zac being arrested.”
    “He wasn’t actually arrest—” Mama started.
    “Can you believe they took that poor child down to the police station? Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? Why, they even came around here asking me all kinds of questions. Why didn’t I call and report Hank missing?” She shook her head and her tight curls sprang back and forth. “Why would I call? I never know what time Hank’s going to get home. Everybody knows how late he works when he’s got his mind on a story. Besides, Lois had one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. I couldn’t leave her alone, so I stayed with her. I never dreamed he didn’t come home. Isn’t that right, Lois?”
    Lois nodded, but for a second, I thought I saw a warning expression in her eyes.
    Marge looked back to us. “You tell that sweet boy not to worry. I know he didn’t kill Hank.”
    “It’s kind of you to be concerned about Zac, Marge,” Mama said. “He had a rough night last night and so did his mother. We’d better get home and check on them.” Mama stood and I quickly did the same. My mother could always be counted on to extricate us gracefully from an awkward social situation. And situations didn’t get much more awkward than this.
    Marge pushed to her feet and hugged me. The familiar smells of spearmint gum and perm solution transported me back to childhood. Marge was odd, but she deserved to know who killed her husband. And if I had my way, she would .
    The doorbell rang. Marge gave Mama a hug and excused herself to answer it.
    Mama squeezed Lois’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here with her.”
    “Thank you. She’d do the same for me.” Her solemn gaze flickered to include me.
    I nodded. “Have they made any arrangements yet?”
    “Poor Marge.” Lois dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “The. . .” She cleared her throat and glanced toward the foyer where a weeping Marge was enfolded in the rather large embrace of the church secretary. “The authorities say the body won’t be released for at least two weeks. Marge doesn’t think it’s fair to Hank’s memory to wait.”
    “Bless her heart.” Mama’s voice was soft with sympathy.
    “Yes,” Lois said. “She’s scheduled a memorial service for him at the church Monday afternoon. They’ll put a special notice in Sunday’s paper.”
    We hugged Lois and patted Marge’s heaving back one more time on the way out the door. When the latch clicked behind us, I glanced at my mother. “You did good, Mama. I felt sorry for Marge, but the air in there was too thick with weirdness.”
    She frowned. “Marge has always been a little. . .hmm. . .unusual, especially the last year or so, but today was strange, even for her. Poor thing. Even if she was under his thumb all those years, Hank’s death has to be hard on her.”
    “I know. I wish there were more we could do.”
    “We can visit her whether we enjoy her company right now or not.” If I’d said that, I’d have sounded like Pollyanna, but Mama just sounded gracious.
    I reached in my pocket for the keys. “Yeah, but there might be something else we could do, too.” Maybe if I lead up to this slowly I could slide under the Mama-meter.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t know. We know a lot of people. Don’t you think if we tried we might figure out what happened to Hank?”
    Mama groaned as she walked around to the passenger side. “Jenna, honey. . .”
    “Don’t worry, Carly’s already given me that speech about minding my own business. You don’t have to.” That is one disadvantage to having a big sister. I hear every