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

for our college and maintained his slim build, up until recently. Now he just looked normal.
    “Then where?”
    “Where what?”
    “Where will I die?”
    “You’re not going to die. You’re just traumatized. Babe caught me on the front walk and told me all about it. Give it time.” He sat down in a ladder-back chair beside me. A football game cheered in the distance. The announcer proclaimed a touchdown.
    “Yes!” I heard my loving husband say.
    Glad he was so concerned about me that he couldn’t enjoy the game.
    Kent was mesmerized by the tube. He used to stare at me like that. Six years of marriage later, things had changed. It wasn’t that we were unhappy. We were just—comfortable, I supposed.
    “Kent?”
    He turned toward me and picked up my hand with both of his. I pulled myself up slightly and rubbed my eyes, trying to recall the chain of events that had played out. They flashed back, all too vividly. Still, I found myself asking, “What happened?”
    “Candace is dead, honey.”
    I bit back a sarcastic really? “I know. What happened to me?”
    He patted my hand. “You just had a little panic attack. It’s not unusual after something like you saw.”
    How long had I been out of commission? Were there any developments since then? “Have you heard anything about her? About what happened?”
    He shook his head, and I noticed he needed a haircut. His brown hair touched the top of his ears. “No, sweetie. I don’t think the police know anything yet.”
    “How about Babe? Is she okay?”
    “Last I heard, she was trying to organize a press conference in her front lawn. Chief Romeo put the kibosh on that. Besides, Charlie Henderson would have been the only person there to ask questions.” Charlie was the editor and reporter of the Boring Times.
    What a contrast. In my former life, I’d worked in public relations. I’d been close to being named partner when Kent decided we should move. Kent said I should take it easy here before looking for another job—like there were any.
    My smile only lasted a minute. I squeezed my eyes shut as flashes from today went off in my head. I tried to get the images out of my mind. I couldn’t. I still saw Candace. I smelled the rotting trash needing to be taken out. I heard Oprah blaring in the background. I grasped Kent’s hand more firmly.
    “I found her.” My throat burned as I said the words. Why had I let Babe talk me into going into that house? How much counseling would it take for me to recover from this?
    “I know. It’s going to take time for all of us to process what happened.” He stroked my hair. “Especially you.”
    I sank back into the couch. I’d never get over the image of her dead body lying there with the remote and pork rinds.
    Nor would I get over the image of my husband watching football in the midst of my trauma.

Chapter 3

    “Jerry Flynn here. I’m also known around town as the Couch King. Come and see my furniture showcase.” Dressed in tights, a tunic, an oversized crown, and a robe trimmed with faux fur, Jerry sprawled back onto his throne—a couch. “At the Couch King, we give all of our customers the royal treatment.”
    That commercial seemed to come on every fifteen minutes during the hours between breakfast and lunch. Jerry couldn’t get enough of himself.
    Speaking of the royal treatment, I had an unwanted visit to make in thirty minutes. At 11:00, to be exact. Hillary Kaye had summoned me by phone. Hillary was the president of the Homeowners’Association, and to say she ruled the neighborhood with an iron first would be an understatement. People feared standing up to the woman, afraid she’d slap a fine on them for some kind of infringement. Rumor had it that she even had the power to foreclose on a home if she saw fit.
    So how would I get to her house today? Walk across Dullington Estates? Take the car in case a fast getaway proved needful? Nah. I would walk to her place. Sure, the weather remained frigid outside, but