A Truth for a Truth by Richards Emilie

Author:Richards, Emilie [Richards, Emilie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Fiction
ISBN: 9780425236055
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2010-10-05T02:00:00+00:00

I had set aside late morning to wash and wax the kitchen floor. I love getting up close and personal with archenemies. The old floor isn’t good for much, but it does provide me with an outlet for hostilities. Being down on my knees also gives me time to think—something religious folks discovered a long time ago. Call the floor my version of a police evidence board, but I’d planned to use my time going over and over what I knew about Win’s murder, to see if new connections appeared.

I was just stripping off the old wax when the doorbell rang. I considered ignoring it, but of course, this would be the one time I shouldn’t. Besides, instead of thinking about Win’s murder, I would spend the rest of my morning wondering who I’d missed.

I was still wiping my hands on a rag when I opened the door to find Hildy. She looked slightly better than she had yesterday, and I hoped she was eating. I’d had a little luck scaring up casseroles for her, but after delivery, nobody stayed around to be sure she actually warmed them and brought them to her mouth.

“Ah, I remember that smell,” she said. “You’re stripping the kitchen floor. You are taking such good care of the church’s property.”

I’m never happy at reminders this house isn’t mine. We are, in effect, renters here, and subject to the whims of our multiple landlords. But I smiled anyway and motioned her inside. Hildy is Hildy, and unlikely to change.

“I won’t keep you from your duties,” she said, “but I’ve taken over the reception after the Sunday service, and I’m not sure if the church has a punch bowl or where it’s kept. I was just there, and Norma isn’t in this morning.”

Ed could have told her, of course, but Hildy would never disturb the “minister” with questions like this. This was strictly minister’s wife stuff. Who would know more about the punch bowl?

As a matter of fact, this time Hildy’s assumption was true. And most of what I know isn’t pretty. The punch bowl and I go way back. Hildy would not believe the stories.

Instead, I just answered the question and ignored the juicy details. “It’s locked up in the closet under the parish hall stairs. January will have the key, and he’ll be in this afternoon.”

“A big one? A good one?”

Big yes, good? Evil exists in many guises, including punch bowls.

“A lovely cut-glass bowl,” I said, since every other description makes me sound like a candidate for the loony bin.

“Good. I’ll make the punch myself.”

I had to question the wisdom of this. Not using the punch bowl, although that was always dangerous, but Hildy doing the reception.

“I’m ready for a break,” I lied. “Would you like some tea?”

“I’m fine, but I’ll sit with you a moment.”

I washed my hands, then I flopped down on the sofa, and she joined me. “Who put you in charge of the reception?” I asked.

“When Sally brought me a casserole, she mentioned that the woman in charge had to fly to Minnesota on a family emergency.

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