Bookmarked for Murder by Marion Moore Hill

Author:Marion Moore Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Fiction Works
Published: 2012-06-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Ferris Asher died Friday.

When the news came over the local TV channel that evening, Juanita was standing at the sink tearing lettuce for a salad. The announcer recapped the church incident and said the minister had not regained consciousness following the attack. The funeral was to be Monday.

It seemed too much. On top of the worrisome events in town and her squabble with Wayne, now came the death of this good man. Juanita dropped onto a stool beside the counter, laid her head on her forearms and wept. At the sound Rip came from the dining room, tail waving gently, and laid a comforting paw on her leg.

As she was caressing him, she smelled something burning. Her supper! Juanita ran to the broiler, waved away a cloud of smoke and removed a blackened hunk of lemon-herb chicken breast. Assuring herself that less meat could only help the diet she had halfheartedly begun that morning, she cut off the worst charring and put it in Rip’s bowl. He wolfed it as if it were a delicacy. Juanita finished her salad, made dry toast and ate mechanically, without enjoyment.

After supper she did laundry and vacuumed. But not even contemplating the living room’s floor-to-ceiling bookcases and comfortable reading nooks cheered her as usual. She realized she was actually angry at herself. Even good intentions hadn’t justified her conversations with Eddie. Had she swallowed her pride and admitted as much, Wayne and she could have made up. If he wasn’t working tonight, they might now be at a movie or a restaurant in Tulsa.

Thinking of restaurants she liked, Juanita realized the frugal meal had not satisfied her. She needed something rich, something chocolate. Perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, she looked up a recipe for chocolate souffle. Immersing eggs in tepid water to warm them to room temperature, she got out utensils and measured ingredients.

Like the library reading room, her kitchen was a cherished spot, with spacious pecan cabinets, weathered brick on one wall and peach-and-ivory wallpaper on the others. Its size accommodated her whole gourmet club.

The egg whites fluffed nicely, and the concoction looked terrific going into the oven. Coming out, it tasted even better. She ate half, the chocolatey decadence sliding into a comforting pile in her stomach, and eyed the rest with regret.

Maybe she would visit Bach, see how the family were faring. But a look out the window at the dark house told her they weren’t home. Then she recalled Bach mentioning a social tonight at the church that sponsored them. Perhaps Vivian Mathiesen would welcome a visitor. But Juanita’s phone call to her home number got no answer. She decided not to try other friends, figuring she would be poor company anyway.

Curled in a wing chair in the living room with Rip languishing at her feet, Juanita tried to read a detective novel. After reading the same paragraph four times without comprehension, she abandoned it and turned on the television. However, sitcoms and sports programs seemed

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