Spicy Lasagna Murder: Book 13 in The Darling Deli Series by Patti Benning

dreams. So really, I just did what he would have wanted if the cancer hadn’t addled his brain.”
    Mr. Samwell seemed perfectly aware of what he wanted right up until the end, Moira thought, but she didn’t dare say it out loud to the half-mad woman in front of her. Instead, she decided to keep her talking. Maybe the lady would come to her senses eventually, or at least put the gun down so she could make a break for it.
    “What about Mr. Franks?” she asked. “Why did you kill him too?”
    “I didn’t plan on it,” the old woman said, guilt crossing her face. “He wasn’t supposed to be there, but once he saw me hit Luke on the head with that wrench, I had to do him in, too. I thought it might turn out all right; everyone believed they were enemies, so it wouldn’t have been too far of a stretch for the police to think that they had somehow managed to kill each other.”
    “Poor Mrs. Franks lost her beloved husband,” Moira admonished. “And you wanted her to spend the rest of her years alone, thinking he was a murderer?”
    At this, Mrs. Samwell burst into tears again. The deli owner was shocked. She didn’t know if this was an improvement or not. At least the woman was distracted, but she was obviously unstable.
    “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Please, forgive me. I was being selfish… so selfish. I wish I could go back and undo it.”
    “Just give me the gun,” said Moira softly. “I’ll drive you to the police station. That can be your first step in making amends—confessing what you did to the authorities.”
    The old woman shook her head vehemently.
    “I’m not going to prison. I would rather die.”
    In a moment, she fell silent. Moira saw the thought flicker across her face a moment before she raised the gun. The deli owner made a reflexive move to grab the weapon from her, but she was too far away and too slow in her cast. Augusta Samwell pointed the gun at her own chest and pulled the trigger.
     

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    It wasn’t the ending that I wanted , Moira thought to herself as the police made their final rounds in the old farmhouse. She was sitting outside alone on one of the folding chairs, having been told by Detective Jefferson not to leave yet. She didn’t have the energy to go anywhere, anyway. Witnessing the old woman’s suicide had drained all will to move from her body.
    How could this have happened? she wondered. In the space of just a few weeks, one slightly mad woman had ended three lives. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem possible. She was certain the old woman had loved her husband at some point in her life, but somehow, over the course of their long marriage, that love turned into resentment. And that resentment had eaten away at the woman until money was more important to her than the man who had stood by her side for decades.
    Moira almost wished that Zander had turned out to be the killer as she had originally suspected. She wondered if Mr. Samwell had seen his wife’s face before she hit him with the wrench in an attempt to knock him out. What if the last thing he saw had been his wife setting fire to the barn, and then walking away?
    The last thing he saw was me, Moira thought firmly. He saw me trying to save him, he was conscious enough for that. I just wish with all my heart that I hadn’t failed.
    It was with relief that she saw the detective come out of the house. He pulled up a seat across from her and planted himself in it. Even he looked tired, as if this case had worn him thin.
    “Do you think that you can answer some questions for me now?” he asked. She nodded. She would rather put it off, but she knew it was best to tell him about what had happened while it was still clear in her mind.
    By the time he finally finished getting her side of the story, David was there. She had sent Candice and Darrin back to the deli to unload the food, and had also asked her daughter to stop at home and spend some time with the puppies, since she hadn’t known