Thirty and a Half Excuses
Page 39
“Shoot, no.” David chuckled. “She was trying to place a bet with Skeeter, but he wouldn’t have any part of it. He said she didn’t have the cash to back it up.”
“So what was she doing buying everyone drinks?”
“That’s Christy Hansen. Spendin’ what she don’t have,” he said, amused.
I cocked my head to the side. “How do you two know so much personal stuff about your middle-school math teacher?”
“We didn’t find this out as her students,” David smirked. “We found out from partyin’ with ‘er.”
My mouth gaped, unsure what to say. How far had she fallen? Mildred had called her a drug addict, and here she was trying to place bets with the local bookie.
“I can’t believe Skeeter didn’t throw her out.” Bruce Wayne muttered shaking his head.
I turned to him. “Why would he throw her out?”
“When she left for Shreveport a couple of years ago, she owed Skeeter money. We all figured that’s why she left.”
If Christy owed money to Skeeter Malcolm, there was only one reason I could think of as to why. Christy Hansen was a gambling fool. And gambling fools were always needing money.
Chapter Twelve
At the moment, my biggest puzzle was what Christy Hansen and someone I assumed was her mother were doing at the New Living Hope Revival Church.
There was one thing I was certain of: Miss Dorothy hadn’t died of natural causes. Someone had killed her—and likely Miss Laura too—and I suspected that they’d done it for personal gain. The most likely suspect was Jonah Pruitt. After all, he’d inherited Miss Dorothy’s house and probably any money she had.
But then again, maybe he hadn’t killed her. Christy was looking pretty suspicious too. She needed money, and she thought she was inheriting everything from her aunt. But was she capable of murder?
And what about Thomas? It was common knowledge on our street that Thomas and Miss Dorothy hadn’t exactly gotten along. Up until about a half an hour ago, when Mason had ordered the autopsy, the police were still calling the elderly women’s deaths natural causes. Thomas had insinuated they were murdered. How could he have known that, and did it have anything to do with my vision?
The guys helped cart the pots out of the truck and position them around the church entrance. Since I was wearing a dress, and I needed to pick up the kids from Violet’s in-laws, I couldn’t do much work. Instead, Bruce Wayne took me on a tour of the church grounds, showing me what they’d done, and what was still left to do. When we made our way to the front of the church, I saw an old black Trans Am pull into the church parking lot and park close to the entrance.
I shaded my eyes to get a closer look. Sure enough, it was Thomas’s car. “What’s he doing here?” I mumbled under my breath.
“Thomas?” Bruce Wayne asked.
My mouth dropped open before I recovered. “You know him?”
A sheepish look spread across Bruce Wayne’s face. “I’ve seen him around.”
That could only mean one thing. They’d met under nefarious circumstances. I wasn’t all that shocked Thomas was involved in illegal activities.
“But I wonder what he’s doing here. At church.”
“He was here yesterday afternoon too. Reverend Jonah hired him to do odd jobs. He brought David and me some cold water.”
“And what did you guys talk about?”
Bruce Wayne stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Who said we talked?”
“I’m no fool, Bruce Wayne Decker. If you knew him before and he brought you water, y’all had to make some kind of chit chat.”
He pressed his lips together. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person to whom he felt loyalty.
“Did he tell you how long he’s been working for Jonah Pruitt?”
Looking at the side of the church, he shrugged. “A couple of months.”
“It seems odd that a boy like Thomas would be working for a reverend.”
He shrugged again. He knew something but wasn’t telling me. “Why do you wanna know?”
“He lives on my street. Next door to the woman who was killed a couple of days ago.”
His eyes flew open. “Someone was killed on your street?”
“Yeah, Christy’s aunt.”
He shook his head in confusion. “But she said her aunt died of a heart attack.”
“That may be what the Henryetta police are sayin’, but Mason just ordered an autopsy. There won’t be a funeral tomorrow.”
Bruce Wayne released a low whistle. “Christy won’t be too happy to hear that. She has big plans back in Shreveport.”
I started walking toward the church entrance. “Nobody ever plans for a murder.”
Unless they committed it.
When I intercepted Thomas on the sidewalk outside the church, he looked up in surprise, then annoyance. “What are you doin’ here?” he asked.
“I could ask the same thing about you.”
A cocky grin spread across his face. “The way I see it, it ain’t any of your business.”
“I know you’re mixed up in trouble.”
The smile fell off his face.
I had no idea what possessed me to say that. I suspected that Mason was right about not showing your hand, and if there was ever a time to keep what I knew to myself, it was now. But I couldn’t help thinking that Thomas had gotten himself involved in something out of his control. Maybe he needed help getting out of it. “If you tell me what you’re mixed up in, maybe I can help.”
“So what was she doing buying everyone drinks?”
“That’s Christy Hansen. Spendin’ what she don’t have,” he said, amused.
I cocked my head to the side. “How do you two know so much personal stuff about your middle-school math teacher?”
“We didn’t find this out as her students,” David smirked. “We found out from partyin’ with ‘er.”
My mouth gaped, unsure what to say. How far had she fallen? Mildred had called her a drug addict, and here she was trying to place bets with the local bookie.
“I can’t believe Skeeter didn’t throw her out.” Bruce Wayne muttered shaking his head.
I turned to him. “Why would he throw her out?”
“When she left for Shreveport a couple of years ago, she owed Skeeter money. We all figured that’s why she left.”
If Christy owed money to Skeeter Malcolm, there was only one reason I could think of as to why. Christy Hansen was a gambling fool. And gambling fools were always needing money.
Chapter Twelve
At the moment, my biggest puzzle was what Christy Hansen and someone I assumed was her mother were doing at the New Living Hope Revival Church.
There was one thing I was certain of: Miss Dorothy hadn’t died of natural causes. Someone had killed her—and likely Miss Laura too—and I suspected that they’d done it for personal gain. The most likely suspect was Jonah Pruitt. After all, he’d inherited Miss Dorothy’s house and probably any money she had.
But then again, maybe he hadn’t killed her. Christy was looking pretty suspicious too. She needed money, and she thought she was inheriting everything from her aunt. But was she capable of murder?
And what about Thomas? It was common knowledge on our street that Thomas and Miss Dorothy hadn’t exactly gotten along. Up until about a half an hour ago, when Mason had ordered the autopsy, the police were still calling the elderly women’s deaths natural causes. Thomas had insinuated they were murdered. How could he have known that, and did it have anything to do with my vision?
The guys helped cart the pots out of the truck and position them around the church entrance. Since I was wearing a dress, and I needed to pick up the kids from Violet’s in-laws, I couldn’t do much work. Instead, Bruce Wayne took me on a tour of the church grounds, showing me what they’d done, and what was still left to do. When we made our way to the front of the church, I saw an old black Trans Am pull into the church parking lot and park close to the entrance.
I shaded my eyes to get a closer look. Sure enough, it was Thomas’s car. “What’s he doing here?” I mumbled under my breath.
“Thomas?” Bruce Wayne asked.
My mouth dropped open before I recovered. “You know him?”
A sheepish look spread across Bruce Wayne’s face. “I’ve seen him around.”
That could only mean one thing. They’d met under nefarious circumstances. I wasn’t all that shocked Thomas was involved in illegal activities.
“But I wonder what he’s doing here. At church.”
“He was here yesterday afternoon too. Reverend Jonah hired him to do odd jobs. He brought David and me some cold water.”
“And what did you guys talk about?”
Bruce Wayne stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Who said we talked?”
“I’m no fool, Bruce Wayne Decker. If you knew him before and he brought you water, y’all had to make some kind of chit chat.”
He pressed his lips together. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person to whom he felt loyalty.
“Did he tell you how long he’s been working for Jonah Pruitt?”
Looking at the side of the church, he shrugged. “A couple of months.”
“It seems odd that a boy like Thomas would be working for a reverend.”
He shrugged again. He knew something but wasn’t telling me. “Why do you wanna know?”
“He lives on my street. Next door to the woman who was killed a couple of days ago.”
His eyes flew open. “Someone was killed on your street?”
“Yeah, Christy’s aunt.”
He shook his head in confusion. “But she said her aunt died of a heart attack.”
“That may be what the Henryetta police are sayin’, but Mason just ordered an autopsy. There won’t be a funeral tomorrow.”
Bruce Wayne released a low whistle. “Christy won’t be too happy to hear that. She has big plans back in Shreveport.”
I started walking toward the church entrance. “Nobody ever plans for a murder.”
Unless they committed it.
When I intercepted Thomas on the sidewalk outside the church, he looked up in surprise, then annoyance. “What are you doin’ here?” he asked.
“I could ask the same thing about you.”
A cocky grin spread across his face. “The way I see it, it ain’t any of your business.”
“I know you’re mixed up in trouble.”
The smile fell off his face.
I had no idea what possessed me to say that. I suspected that Mason was right about not showing your hand, and if there was ever a time to keep what I knew to myself, it was now. But I couldn’t help thinking that Thomas had gotten himself involved in something out of his control. Maybe he needed help getting out of it. “If you tell me what you’re mixed up in, maybe I can help.”
