the urge to garnish the dessert with a passion flower, which is slightly poisonous but only if you eat the roots or seeds. It can also be used to rid the body of worms.
The fork rattled on the plate as I walked back to the parlor. The room was quiet as a burial chamber, except for the walnut clock on the mantel. Each decisive tick said, Time’s up , a reminder that my short stint at mommyhood had ended.
I set Lester’s tea and pie on the table. He lifted the glass, ice tinkling, and drank; his throat clicked in rhythm with the clock. T-Bone lumbered into the room; Sir was right behind him.
Lester lowered the glass. “Yick. Will they bite?”
“Not unless you do,” I said.
Red and Coop walked into the room and sat in the green velvet chairs across from Lester. The three men glared at one another. No introductions. No greetings. I positioned myself by the pocket doors and kept an eye on the stairwell. The bathroom door was still closed.
“I just left Eikenberry’s Funeral Home,” Lester said, looking pleased with himself. “I picked a mahogany casket with a waterproof liner. The viewing is Tuesday. Six to nine. I’m having a tasteful graveside service on Wednesday.”
“What would be untasteful?” Red pressed his fingertips together.
“Who are you ?” Lester blinked.
Red badged him. Lester held up his hand and showed his teeth, like Béla Lugosi shying away from a crucifix. Then he lowered his arm. “How do I know if that badge is real? You could’ve bought it anywhere.”
“It’s real,” Coop said. “He works for me.”
Lester smirked. “Is he working tonight? Or enjoying Teeny’s opulent hospitality?”
“I’m on duty 24 / 7.” Red paused. “How’d you get your wife’s body released so soon?”
Lester ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “One of my friends called the Sweeney coroner. Then everything moved faster.”
“You must have important friends,” Red said.
“A few.” Lester smiled. “Not to brag, but I’ve been to the governor’s mansion several times. I’ve attended fund-raisers with Ted Turner and Newt Gingrich and Jimmy Carter.”
“Did one of them call the coroner?” Red asked.
“You can drop the sarcastic tone.” Lester’s eyes widened until they resembled two fried eggs. “I’m just trying to explain how I dealt with the coroner.”
“I’m surprised that Sweeney has a corner,” Coop said. “It’s a podunk town. Six traffic lights. Three detectives. A volunteer staff fingerprints the jaywalkers.”
“Sorry that my wife didn’t ask your opinion about the best place to be murdered.” Lester’s hand hovered in front of his mouth, as if to call back the words. A red flush crept up his steep forehead.
Murdered? I gripped the pocket door until my knuckles turned white.
Coop leaned back in his chair, his foot scraping against the floor. “Did you say murdered ?”
Sweat beaded on Lester’s forehead. “The Sweeney police are calling her death a suicide. I can’t help what the coroner thinks.”
“What does he think?” Red asked.
“Ask him yourself. I know that Barb killed herself. She left a suicide note, an empty bottle of merlot, and an empty bottle of pills. She liked antidepressants, stimulants, downers. She thought she was exempt from adverse drug reactions. There’s no telling what the toxicology screen will show. That’s what started this whole ‘she might have-been-murdered’ mess.”
Coop’s knee jogged up and down. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
“I phoned the coroner this morning to see if he’d done a tox screen. The answer was no. He’d already finished the autopsy and he was satisfied that Barb had hung herself. I could tell that he didn’t care about her drug problem. He was on his way out the door. Going to Pinehurst, North Carolina, to play golf.”
Lester talked fast, his eyes shifting back and forth.
“I threatened to call the governor,” he continued. “The coroner checked her again, and that’s
The fork rattled on the plate as I walked back to the parlor. The room was quiet as a burial chamber, except for the walnut clock on the mantel. Each decisive tick said, Time’s up , a reminder that my short stint at mommyhood had ended.
I set Lester’s tea and pie on the table. He lifted the glass, ice tinkling, and drank; his throat clicked in rhythm with the clock. T-Bone lumbered into the room; Sir was right behind him.
Lester lowered the glass. “Yick. Will they bite?”
“Not unless you do,” I said.
Red and Coop walked into the room and sat in the green velvet chairs across from Lester. The three men glared at one another. No introductions. No greetings. I positioned myself by the pocket doors and kept an eye on the stairwell. The bathroom door was still closed.
“I just left Eikenberry’s Funeral Home,” Lester said, looking pleased with himself. “I picked a mahogany casket with a waterproof liner. The viewing is Tuesday. Six to nine. I’m having a tasteful graveside service on Wednesday.”
“What would be untasteful?” Red pressed his fingertips together.
“Who are you ?” Lester blinked.
Red badged him. Lester held up his hand and showed his teeth, like Béla Lugosi shying away from a crucifix. Then he lowered his arm. “How do I know if that badge is real? You could’ve bought it anywhere.”
“It’s real,” Coop said. “He works for me.”
Lester smirked. “Is he working tonight? Or enjoying Teeny’s opulent hospitality?”
“I’m on duty 24 / 7.” Red paused. “How’d you get your wife’s body released so soon?”
Lester ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “One of my friends called the Sweeney coroner. Then everything moved faster.”
“You must have important friends,” Red said.
“A few.” Lester smiled. “Not to brag, but I’ve been to the governor’s mansion several times. I’ve attended fund-raisers with Ted Turner and Newt Gingrich and Jimmy Carter.”
“Did one of them call the coroner?” Red asked.
“You can drop the sarcastic tone.” Lester’s eyes widened until they resembled two fried eggs. “I’m just trying to explain how I dealt with the coroner.”
“I’m surprised that Sweeney has a corner,” Coop said. “It’s a podunk town. Six traffic lights. Three detectives. A volunteer staff fingerprints the jaywalkers.”
“Sorry that my wife didn’t ask your opinion about the best place to be murdered.” Lester’s hand hovered in front of his mouth, as if to call back the words. A red flush crept up his steep forehead.
Murdered? I gripped the pocket door until my knuckles turned white.
Coop leaned back in his chair, his foot scraping against the floor. “Did you say murdered ?”
Sweat beaded on Lester’s forehead. “The Sweeney police are calling her death a suicide. I can’t help what the coroner thinks.”
“What does he think?” Red asked.
“Ask him yourself. I know that Barb killed herself. She left a suicide note, an empty bottle of merlot, and an empty bottle of pills. She liked antidepressants, stimulants, downers. She thought she was exempt from adverse drug reactions. There’s no telling what the toxicology screen will show. That’s what started this whole ‘she might have-been-murdered’ mess.”
Coop’s knee jogged up and down. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
“I phoned the coroner this morning to see if he’d done a tox screen. The answer was no. He’d already finished the autopsy and he was satisfied that Barb had hung herself. I could tell that he didn’t care about her drug problem. He was on his way out the door. Going to Pinehurst, North Carolina, to play golf.”
Lester talked fast, his eyes shifting back and forth.
“I threatened to call the governor,” he continued. “The coroner checked her again, and that’s
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