Death on a Deadline

neighbors—you know how they say, ‘He was the nicest guy. He couldn’t have done it.’ ” She ran my twenty-dollar bill over the edge of the counter to smooth it out and slipped it into her cash register. “Then they start finding the bodies under the house. . .”—she nodded over my head at Mona, the other cashier, who’d stopped to listen to Marita’s tactless droning—“. . .in the freezer. . . .”
    “Yes, I know what you mean. Happens all the time.” I took my change and groceries with a sweet smile. “Some small-town grocery-store clerk turns out to be a mass murderer. Say, Marita. . .where were you the morning Hank was murdered?”
    Marita’s eyes widened, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. At least she wasn’t talking anymore. I stomped out to my car and deposited the groceries, then strolled over to the video store.
    “Hey, Jenna! I already rang up your movie.” Susan laid the plastic box on the counter by the door while I paid. “You’ll love it.”
    “You said it was comedy, and I’m in the mood for funny. That’s good enough for me.” I slid my change into my pocket and grabbed the movie.
    As soon as I got home, I invited Mr. Persi in to play and let Neuro out of her carrier. While I heated my pizza, they batted one of Neuro’s toys around the floor. I kept one eye on the big dog and wondered at his gentle spirit. The cautious way he moved around with Neuro reminded me of a giant of a man with a little girl. He was playful but mindful of his strength.
    I hate to eat alone, so I gave both animals a piece of pizza before I settled into my recliner and pushed the Play button on the remote control. Susan had nailed it. The movie was a riot. Small-town murder and a bumbling amateur detective. She barely escaped the killer’s vengeful plots over and over without ever being aware of them. Struck a little too close to home, though, and three quarters of the way through, I’d enjoyed all of it I could stand. Neuro was asleep on my lap and Mr. Persi on my feet. “Time for bed,” I muttered.
    Later, after Mr. Persi was safely tucked into the laundry room, Neuro perched on the vanity and licked her paws, watching intently as I brushed my teeth and washed my face, still thinking about the movie. “Am I as clueless as that woman?” I asked her as we padded over to the bed. I snuggled under the comforter and looked down at her where she curled up next to my feet. “I failed in the Olympics, I failed as a teacher, I can’t get Bob to sell me the business, and now I can’t solve Hank’s murder.” I raised myself up partway, punched my pillow, and then lay back down. “Trouble is, everybody seems guilty,” I murmured, as the world as I knew it faded into oblivion.

    *****

    A crowd was gathered around the health-club receptionist’s desk when I walked in. Amelia’s neon-orange spandex workout clothes made me ra ise my hand to shade my eyes.
    “There she is,” she said, pointing an orange fingernail at me.
    “What’s wrong?” I peered over her shoulder, but the crowd blocked my view.
    The man beside her turned around. Brendan Stiles, holding up a wallet. “Looking for this?” he snarled at me. How had I ever thought he was handsome?
    “What are you talking about? I gave that to John.”
    John broke away from the group, the light off his badge glinted in my eyes worse than Amelia’s neon. He walked toward me.
    “John, I’m so glad you’re here. I think you should question Byron. And Elliott. Or even Brendan. One of them killed Hank.”
    “That’s your plan, huh? Take the heat off yourself by pointing a finger at them? Why’d you do it?” John dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of him, the clink-clink echoing in the high-ceiling room.
    My heart thudded against my ribs. “I didn’t kill Hank.”
    “Who said anything about Hank?” John asked, shaking his head sadly. “Zac killed him.”
    I gasped. “He did not!”
    Behind him, Marita, the Price Cutter cashier, wagged her finger at me. “Yes, he did, sweetie. Just like I said.”
    “Fore!” Elliott called and pretended to line up the perfect shot down the tile hallway. He swung away with his golf club at an imaginary ball. “And she had the nerve to accuse me,” he said to a man next to him. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I was afraid it was Alex.
    “I didn’t accuse you!”
    “You accused almost everybody, trying to hide the truth, I guess.” Marge, with sorrow-filled eyes, stepped toward