Murder by Mushroom Read Online Free PDF Page B

shrugged.
    “But she doesn’t fit the profile,” Dennis insisted. “Not even close.”
    “Walsh, the first rule you learn in police investigation is this—never make assumptions. Everyone is capable of committing a crime, given the right motivation.”
    Dennis shook his head. “I’m not sure I buy that. I’ve studied profiling, and—”
    “Everyone.” Conner snapped his own seat belt and caught Dennis’s gaze in his direct one. “You can trust your mother, Walsh. But check her.”
    Dennis turned the key in the ignition, nodding. Conner was as cynical as they came. Maybe that’s why he was considered the best.
    But as he backed out of the parking lot, Dennis couldn’t help remembering the way Jackie’s lower lip had quivered when he had confiscated her cutting board.

FOUR
    A rivulet of rain dripped from Esther Hodge’s umbrella onto the top of Margaret’s head. When it slid down her forehead, Margaret stopped the trickle with a fingertip and took a sideways step to the green canopy covering the grave site. Lucky Earl. He stood dry beyond the casket, holding an open Bible and waiting for the last of the brave to make the muddy trek to the dubious shelter of the canopy.
    The canvas ceiling showed an ominous sag of pooling rain directly above Margaret’s head. She took another two steps toward the center.
    More people than Margaret expected had turned out for Alice’s service. Several elderly gentlemen identified themselves at the funeral home as friends or coworkers of the late Mr. Farmer, and a taxicab had deposited an ancient woman who said she’d retired from the paper factory a few years before Alice.
    Heritage Community Church was well represented, too. Six elderly members of the Prime Timer Sunday school class, come to bid farewell to one of their own, perched on wobbly folding chairs in front of the casket.
    A backward glance showed Richard and Laura Watson, huddled beneath a black umbrella, bringing up the rear of the wet funeral goers. Interesting. The Watsons and Alice had never seemed close—certainly not close enough for Richard to take time off from his job as a bank vice president to attend her funeral. Margaret wondered if the reason had anything to do with Richard’s rumored interest in becoming the church treasurer when Ernie stepped down at the end of the year. Attending an old lady’s funeral would earn him brownie points with the elderly members of the congregation.
    A flash of guilt washed over her at the uncharitable thought. Maybe he was simply being respectful to a long-time member of his church.
    The conspicuous absence of one person disturbed Margaret. Jackie should be here. After all, she’d found Alice ill and called the ambulance. She shifted her gaze to the two policemen watching the proceedings from the back corner. When they came to the parsonage this morning they mentioned they’d just come from Jackie’s apartment, and their questions centered rather intently on her pasta casserole. They seemed quite eager to know who, besides Alice, might have taken leftover portions home. Surely the girl wasn’t so upset by their questions she’d decided not to attend the funeral.
    Earl cleared his throat as the Watsons joined the dripping group beneath the canopy. Margaret directed her attention toward her husband, who looked through the bottom half of his bifocals and read from the scriptures. His vibrant baritone carried beyond the tent and rolled down the softly curving hillside, flooding the quiet cemetery with words of comfort.
    “‘Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.’”
    The funeral goers squirmed, surprised at Earl’s selection of a passage of Scripture normally read at weddings. Margaret hid a smile. None of that ashes-to-ashes stuff for Earl; he leaped at any opportunity to talk about God’s love.
    Unfortunately, he had discussed the subject