Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) Read Free

warmth and comfort.
    From what I’d heard—thanks to my recent involvement with the rumor mill—Harry wanted to be a part of the town’s police force, only there were no openings. So what did he do? The next best thing—he headed up the Neighborhood Watch patrol. He took his position very seriously. When my husband locked himself out of the house and tried to crawl in through a window, Harry had pulled him back outside single-handedly. It was no small task, considering Kent weighed 200 pounds.
    “I heard the siren and came right over.” Harry’s prominent chin jutted out as he gazed over the cul-de-sac, his domain. He looked at Chief Romeo. “So, what’s going on?”
    “I’m sorry, Harry.” Chief Romeo shook his head, chewing as he did so. He must have found that leftover green egg. “This is official police business, nothing that the Neighborhood Watch needs to be involved with.”
    “I beg to differ.” Harry spoke with slow precision. “I’m in charge of keeping this neighborhood safe. So why don’t you fill me in?”
    Chief Romeo sighed and shifted, the action causing his stomach to bounce like a water balloon. “Harry, I’m going to have to ask you to back off. You’re not a part of police investigations. How many times have we been over this?”
    Harry raised his hand in the air. “I’ve sworn to serve this community. And that’s exactly what I intend on doing. I will not let my neighbors down here in Dullington Estates.”
    I stuffed Chief Romeo’s card into my pocket and headed across the street. I’d heard enough of the conversation, and I knew I was no longer needed. I’d given my statement, and Chief Romeo would be in touch if he needed me.
    Babe waved at me enthusiastically as I walked past the squad car. The poor officer sat with shoulders slumped, as if listening to Babe exhausted him.
    I continued on home, desperate to get away from the crazy around me—which meant avoiding Donna and Tiara, despite their gossip-hungry eyes.
    I still couldn’t believe it. How could Candace be dead? How did she die? Was it an accident—did she choke on a pork rind? I certainly wouldn’t guess that based on the position in which I’d found her. She’d looked too peaceful sprawled out on the couch.
    That was it! Candace had looked too peaceful.
    Like she’d been positioned on that sofa.
    Which would mean someone killed her.

    My eyes fluttered open. I lay on my couch.
    I sprang forward, my gaze darting around for a remote and pork rinds. And Chief Romeo. And muscle-bound Harry. And crime scene tape. Anything else to tell me I’d died just like Candace.
    What I saw was my house as my neighbors would see it, if they’d found me here dead on the couch. I’d rushed out earlier, knocking over a potted plant, and dirt still stretched across the hardwood floor. Laundry sat in piles on the loveseat. And who could ignore the dust that coated every available surface? I hadn’t quite taken to house cleaning as my husband had hoped.
    “Honey, are you okay?” Kent leaned over me.
    I gasped and pressed my hand over my heart. Kent. He’d been sitting in a chair beside me. Just Kent. Not a killer.
    How was I? I seemed to be alive. But I had to get off this couch. Maybe it was the couch that killed Candace. Maybe the furniture had taken on a mind of its own and—
    No sooner had I stood than Kent propelled me back down. “You’re not going anywhere.”
    I frowned. Kent didn’t understand. Had we ever understood each other, or was understanding simply an act people perfected during dating and completely abandoned after marriage? “I don’t want to die on the couch.”
    “You’re not going to die on the couch, honey.”
    I stared into my husband’s teddy-bear brown eyes. I loved those eyes. They were what first attracted me to him my sophomore year at Northwestern. His oval face had gotten fuller with age. I liked the change. He was too skinny when we got married. The fitness nut had run cross-country