Death on a Deadline

seemed odd, him getting killed so soon after the turnover of Dear Pru. The police thought Zac was a suspect because Hank fired him. I just thought maybe this person might be a suspect, too.”
    “Definitely not.”
    “In that case, I’ll get to the real question I wanted to ask.”
    “What is it, dear?”
    “When I was at the newspaper, I found some pill bottles in a bag. They had women’s names on them.” She didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or if she’d gone a shade whiter. “Those names I asked you and Lois about at church the other day, remember?”
    Marge’s face crumpled. I’d hoped for some kind of reaction—an eyelid twitch, a facial tic, but I’d never expected this. She looked up at me, tears tracing through the wrinkle track of her face. “You know, don’t you?”
    “Know? About what?”
    “About my problem.”
    Her problem? Her problem. Of course. I should have seen it earlier. Marge was an addict. “I’m sorry.” I patted her on the back.
    She shook her head and snatched a Kleenex from the box next to her. “I don’t care, I don’t care. I was terrified Hank would find out. But he did anyway right before he died.” She blew her nose loudly. “I’d have checked into rehab after that, but Lois said it would look suspicious. She was worried that the police would arrest me because I didn’t have an alibi.”
    “What about Lois’s stomach bug?”
    “Truth is—I was passed out from the drugs. That’s why I didn’t know Hank wasn’t home. Lois made the other up to protect me.”
    “She’s a good friend.”
    “Yes, she is. She cared for me after my back surgery, and when the pain was so bad, she understood that I had to have my pills. Since then, she’s tried everything to help me quit the drugs, but I couldn’t.”
    “Are you still using?” I asked quietly.
    She shook her head. “I took myself off cold turkey after the funeral. It almost killed me.” I remembered the haunted look in her eyes on my second visit when she’d said she’d rather live with the pain than lose herself. She’d been speaking from hard experience.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “So who were the women whose names were on the bottles?”
    “Oh, they weren’t real people. After my prescription ran out, Lois talked Brendan into selling me pills under fake names. Just until I could quit.”
    “I guess Hank was pretty mad at Brendan when he found out.”
    Marge nodded. “Listen, if Hank hadn’t been dead when Brendan died, I’d have thought Hank killed him. That’s how mad he was.”
    I stood and hugged her. “I’m glad you got it under control, Marge. I’ll be praying you keep getting better.”
    “Thank you, Jenna. I’ll be praying you get the answers you’re looking for, too.”
    “Thanks.”
    As soon as I was in the car, I called Carly’s cell phone. No answer. I wanted to ask Lois some questions anyway, so I headed in that direction. As I drove along the river road, I glanced out at the sparkling water down below. Saturdays should be spent kayaking or fishing, not interrogating sweet elderly women so I could find a murderer.
    I breathed a prayer of thanks that Marge had broken free from the drug habit. It would have been so much easier on her if she’d only gotten help. I could understand her not wanting to while Hank was alive in case he found out, but it looked like Lois would have insisted after his death. If Marge had been honest with John about her alibi, he’d have understood.
    I turned down the little lane that led to Lois’s riverfront house. The alibi. It hadn’t only been Marge’s alibi, it had been Lois’s as well. Unless I missed my guess, Lois had hated Hank. He’d been talking to Brendan about the drugs. No doubt he’d discovered that Lois had gotten Marge the pills from Brendan. My mind whirled like the river currents below. According to Marge, Lois was the main one who dealt with Brendan. Had she dealt with him permanently?
    This was my most unbelievable scenario yet, but what if I was right and Carly was entertaining a murderer? Carly’s van loomed ahead in Lois’s driveway. I picked up my phone and punched in Carly’s number again. No answer. I hesitated, then dialed John.
    “John? It’s Jenna.” I started telling him about Marge and Lois, but he interrupted me.
    “Jenna, I’m worried about you. I think maybe you should get some counseling.”
    “I—” The line was dead. I punched in 9-1. Then stopped. Was I prepared