3 Revenge of the Crafty Corpse by Lois Winston

exhibition of their work? She was the director of an assisted living facility, not a prison warden.
    The more I learned about Shirley “Control Freak” Hallstead, the less I liked her. “Leave Shirley to me,” I told my students. “Meanwhile, I’d like each of you to start rounding up your best pieces.”
    _____
    Shortly after I’d had the same discussion with my next class, the needlework women from Friday, minus Lyndella, Reggie tripped into the room. Literally. The top box of the two cardboard cartons she carried tumbled from her arms onto the floor. Fabric yo-yos spilled across the room.
    “I … I’m so … sorry!” She trembled inside her Winnie the Pooh scrubs, her scrawny arms still clutching the one remaining carton to her chest.
    The poor kid looked like she expected a horse whipping. I took the remaining carton from her and set it down on a table. “No problem. Fabric doesn’t break.”
    She cowered in front of me. I placed my hand on her forearm. “Reggie, it’s okay. Really.”
    What the hell had happened to this kid? The mother in me knew something was seriously wrong. Now that we stood toe-to-toe I took a good look at her for the first time. I noted chewed fingernails, patches of thinning hair, and sparse eyelashes. Coupled with her anorexic frame, I didn’t need a degree in psychology to tell me this kid abused herself. If I pulled up the legs of her pants, I was convinced I’d find evidence of cutting.
    Given all the diplomas hanging on Shirley Hallstead’s wall, how could she not see that this child needed help? Or did she see and not give a damn?
    Reggie dropped to her hands and knees. “I’ll pick everything up.”
    “There are more cartons, right?”
    She nodded as she scooped up handfuls of yo-yos and deposited them back in the box. “Lots.”
    “I’ll finish here. Why don’t you get the rest of the cartons? Do you need help with them?”
    She paused mid-scoop and thought for a moment. “No, this is m … my fault. I’ll pick these up, then get the rest of the boxes for you.”
    I decided to let her do as she wanted. I grabbed the carton from the table and headed back to my desk to sort through Lyndella’s treasures.
    “Whatcha got there?” asked Mabel as I passed the table where she and several other women worked on various embroidery projects.
    “Some of Lyndella’s crafts.”
    “Why would you want those here?”
    “Shirley planned to toss them out. I didn’t want that to happen.”
    “You should let her trash them,” said Mabel. “We don’t need any reminders of that hussy and her pornographic crafts around here.”
    I placed the box on my desk and walked over to Mabel’s table. “Maybe you can help me,” I said. “I’m trying to understand why everyone hated Lyndella so much.”
    “Why?” asked Mabel.
    “Because right now my mother-in-law is the prime suspect in her death, and I know she didn’t kill Lyndella Wegner.”
    “You think one of us did?” asked a woman working on a Bargello pillow.
    “I’m not accusing anyone. I’m merely trying to understand why you all hated her.”
    “Because she spread her legs for every man living at Sunnyside,” said Mabel.

eight
    “None of us stood a chance with Lyndella Wegner around,” said a woman knitting a baby sweater.
    Maybe Lucille hadn’t been dreaming. “You’re telling me Lyndella had sex with all the male residents living at Sunnyside?”
    “Every last one of them,” said Mabel. “She’d pounce the moment new blood crossed the threshold. A one-woman Welcoming Committee.”
    “Hardly give them time to unpack,” added Bargello Lady.
    I really needed to find a way to remember all these women’s names. Maybe I could plead a mild case of aphasia and ask them all to wear name tags.
    “Worse than that,” said a blonde woman working on a fisherman knit sweater, “she went after our husbands.”
    Mabel patted her hand. “Tell her what happened to George, Sally.”
    Sally set her knitting down