Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(78)

I tried to lift my head and set off a thousand drumbeats of pain.

“Oh, dear!” Ethel looked around, startled. “I didn’t realize you’d come to. You poor thing,” she said, clucking in sympathy, “your head must be pounding. I’d give you an aspirin, but you’ll be dead soon anyway. So why waste an aspirin?”

I gulped at this latest news bulletin, setting off a fresh wave of bongo beats. If indeed I was headed for my final reward, I’d be darned if I was going to go without a fight.

“So you killed Garth,” I said, stalling for time.

“Well, duh, as you young people say. Of course I did. Such fun pretending to be a roofer and loosening those shingles!”

“But why?”

“Because he killed Pumpkin. That was no accident. Garth ran over my poor baby on purpose. So naturally he had to die.”

“But I don’t understand. Why frame Willard for the murder?”

“Oh, Willard,” she said, with a dismissive wave. “I’m so THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

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tired of that man, always bossing me around. Gave me his lunch order every day like I was a waitress at a restaurant. I swear, I never want to cook another meal for him as long as I live.”

So Cathy Janken wasn’t the only one who’d wanted to dump her husband. I’d been pinning my suspicions on the wrong desperate housewife.

“What a pill!” Ethel grumbled. “Forty-three years of marriage and we went on the same dratted vacation every summer. Fishing on Lake Arrowhead. I hung around the cabin all day, bored silly, while he caught fish. And then I had to clean the stinky things.

“I begged him to take me places. All my life I’ve wanted to lie on the sand in Bermuda, but no, he’s so selfish. Everything’s got to be his way or no way.

“So you see, dear, I had to get rid of him.”

“Ever hear of a little thing called divorce?”

“Oh, no!” Ethel blinked, horrified. “I could never do that.

It’s a sin, you know.”

Yikes. Murder and sending her husband to jail was okay, but divorce was a no-no. The woman had enough loose screws to open her own hardware store.

“I’d never kill Willard. I just wanted him out of the way.

Besides, prison will be good for him. It’s time he learned to take orders from somebody else for a change.”

Our cozy chat was interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing in my purse.

“Don’t get up, sweetheart,” Ethel said. “I’ll see who it is.

Ha ha. That was a joke.”

“I got it.” And yet, I wasn’t laughing.

Ethel scooted over to the sofa where I’d left my purse and checked out my caller ID.

“It’s the police.”

Great. Now they’re getting back to me.

“I’m afraid you won’t be returning this call,” she said. “Or any other calls, for that matter.”

266

Laura Levine

She picked up a china tea cup from the coffee table and headed back to me.

“What a shame,” she sighed. “If only you hadn’t interfered. I didn’t mind killing Garth, but you seem like such a nice girl. I hate to have to kill you, too.”

“Then don’t. I swear, I won’t say a word to the cops. Honest. Garth was an awful man; he deserved to die. And as for Willard, hey, prison’s not so bad.”

“I wish I could believe you,” she said, kneeling at my side, “but I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Now drink this, sweetheart. I brewed it while you were sleeping.” She gently propped my head into a sipping position. “It’s some lovely Constant Comment tea, with a tad of rat poison.”

“Sounds tempting, but I’ll pass.”

“I really wish you’d drink it, dear. Otherwise I’ll have to bludgeon you to death with my candy cane, and I really hate getting my carpet all bloody. But I will if have to.”

“Just what do you intend to do with my body?”

“Oh, I’ll put it in the freezer till I get back from Bermuda.

I’ll figure out something then.

“Bottoms up,” she said, holding the tea cup to my lips.

“Just remember. If you don’t drink it, I’ll bash your head in.

And that won’t be very pleasant, will it?”

No way was I going to open my mouth and drink this stuff. I had to do something to stop her.

“Okay,” I lied, “I’ll drink it. But can you grant me one last wish before I die?”

“That depends. What’s the wish?”

“I’d really love one of your brownies. They were so darn delicious.”

“How sweet of you to say so.” She blushed with pleasure.

“It’s so nice to get a compliment for a change. I must’ve cooked 60,000 meals for Willard but did I ever get a thank you? No, I did not.”

“So can I have one?”

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“I’m afraid they’re in the freezer.”

“Can’t you nuke one for me? And maybe heat up the tea?

It looks sort of cold.”

“Well, okay. But after the brownie, then you promise you’ll die without a fuss?”