Dead Giveaway

  Dead Giveaway

  By S. Furlong-Bolliger

  Copyright 2011 by S. Furlong-Bolliger

  Cover Copyright 2011 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Also by S. Furlong-Bolliger and Untreed Reads Publishing

  Death by Jello

  Christmas in Killarney

  Paddy Whacked

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  Dead Giveaway

  By S. Furlong-Bolliger

  When it came to wicked stepmothers, Cinderella had nothing on me. My stepmother, Rose, was pure evil. That’s why, when I got the call about my father’s death, I knew she was somehow responsible. I just had to prove it.

  Since I hadn’t spoken to my father for years, I was wearing an abundance of guilt right along with my best dress when I slunk into St. Philomena’s just as his funeral service was about to start. I was surprised to see that not many faces had changed since I had been gone. I even saw Pinky Jones, dressed in his best department store suit, sitting in the third pew. I hadn’t seen Pinky since graduation, when we shared a fifth behind the bleachers and discussed our life goals—mine being to get away from Lake Loon and my stepmother; his being to play professional ball for the Bears. He never did make the team. I, however, achieved my goal that very night when I packed my bag and caught a Greyhound north. I hadn’t been back since. Something, that now as I gazed upon my father’s casket, I regretted.

  Unfortunately, Rose, my stepmother, who was always easy to pick out in a crowd, hadn’t changed a bit. I spotted her right away, seated in the front pew and dressed as her usual flamboyant self—bright red hair, even brighter lipstick, and eye shadow three layers deep. This morning, she stood out among the darkly dressed mourners like a hooker at an Amish quilting bee. Nonetheless, I felt obligated to sit next to her. After all, being that I was the only real family left, I had as much right as her to be in the front pew.

  With some clever sidestepping, I did manage to make it through the service and the burial without actually speaking to my stepmother. However, my luck ended afterwards at the luncheon when we came face to face over a dish of tater tot casserole.

  Narrowing her eyes, Rose made a bold move and snatched up the serving spoon just as I was reaching for it. “Well, Julie, you decided to come back,” she started in her nauseating voice. “It would have been nice if you would have visited while your father was still alive.”

  The buffet crowd grew silent—all ears preened for my reply, but I bit my lip and moved down the line, past a heaping bowl of fried chicken legs and straight to a large, spiral-cut ham.

  Rose, however, just couldn’t let it drop. She pursued me like a hungry coyote with a wounded rabbit in sight. “But that doesn’t surprise me,” she continued. “You were always an unappreciative little brat. And, to think that I gave up my best years to raise you. Why, I had a promising career as an actress before I met—”

  I wheeled around, facing her. For a fleeting second I considered using the long-tined ham fork to skewer one of her eyeballs. “The only successful role you ever played was that of major bitch!”

  That drew a collective gasp from crowd.

  “Now, ladies!” Father O’Neil interrupted. “Let’s remember where we are.”

  “Sorry, Father. Your right,” I said, out of respect for the collar. Inside, however, I was wondering why he wasn’t pulling out the holy water and commencing with an exorcism—the Devil was standing just three feet away from him. Although, in his defense, maybe he just didn’t recognize Rose for what she was. After all, in Rose’s case, the Devil wasn’t wearing Prada; it was wearing Jaclyn Smith and two inches of Maybelline.

  I took my ham and moved as far away from Rose as possible. I ended up across the room next to Cliff Barker, the town’s one and only insurance agent.

  “Julie. I’m so sorry about your father,” he said, dabbing politely at his mouth with a napkin. “I was planning on giving you a call as soon as things settled down, but since you’re here, I may as well let you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Your father came into my office last week. He wanted to discuss his insurance policy.”

  “He had an insurance policy?”

  “Yes, he took out a very large policy a few years back.”

  “Really? How large?”

  “A million dollars.”

  My heart skipped. “A million dollars?” I asked, dollar signs practically spinning in my eyes.

  Cliff held up a hand. “Hold on. Rose was the sole beneficiary of the policy. In fact, if I remember correctly, she had insisted upon it at the time.”

  I seethed inside. “I’m sure she did.” I glanced over to where she was sitting with a bunch of ladies from her bridge club. They were flocking around her like seagulls to a discarded french fry.

  I hated that woman.

  I turned back to Cliff. “So, why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, I thought you should know that he was going to drop Rose and name you as the sole beneficiary. I drew up the paperwork and gave it to him to take home and read over the weekend. He was going to look it over and then come in and sign it on Monday.”

  “But, he died on Friday.”

  Cliff was watching me carefully. “That’s right. So legally, Rose is still the beneficiary. But, I wanted you to know that your father was thinking of you.”

  I mulled this over for a second before asking, “Do you know why he suddenly decided to change the beneficiary?”

  Cliff was about to reply when suddenly he looked over my shoulder, grew wide-eyed, and excused himself.

  I turned to see what had scared him off. I was being descended upon by Marge and Agnes, St. Philomena’s wonder-duo. As far as anyone could remember, these two matronly women had single-handedly organized every baby shower, luncheon, and fundraiser in the parish. They were also the biggest gossips in town.

  “Julie, your father’s accident was such a tragedy. A terrible shock to us all,” Marge said, drawing me into her squishy bosom.

  “Yes, you poor dear,” Agnes reiterated, also hugging me. Her hug was as rigid and boney as Marge’s was squishy.

  I smiled to myself—maybe running into these two was a good thing. I had just hit the rumor mill jackpot. If anyone knew of trouble between Rose and my father, it would be these two women.

  “It’s so good to see you both,” I started. “And, thank you for all your hard work. This is a wonderful luncheon.”

  They gushed at the compliment.

  “I was just talking to Cliff Barker…” I hedged.

  “We saw that, dear,” Agnes said. “And we do hope that your father had thought enough to plan in case….”

  “In case of the unthinkable,” Marge finished. “I mean it’s the responsible thing to do. Your father did make provisions, didn’t he dear?”

  I ignored their prying and asked a question of my own. “Of course you both know that I…well, that I have been estranged from my
family for several years.” I had their full attention. “And, I was wondering, was my father happy in the end? I mean, really happy? Like, with his life…and…his marriage?”

  Agnes and Marge exchanged a look that I couldn’t quiet interpret.

  “What is it, ladies? If you know something, please tell me.”

  “Well, there were rumors,” Agnes said.

  “Rumors?”

  “Yes, but you know that we’re not the type to listen to gossip.”

  That was only partly true. Agnes and Marge weren’t the type to listen to gossip; they were the type to collect it, cultivate it, and spread it all over town like manure on a garden. “Oh, I know you two would never spread gossip, but I’m his daughter. I deserve to know if something was going on with my father.”

  They exchanged another look. Finally, Marge shrugged and leaned in, cupping her hand on the side of her mouth. “We heard that there was another man.”

  I almost swallowed my tongue. “Another man? Who?”

  They shrugged in unison. “We don’t know. Certainly if he was from Lake Loon we would know who he is,” Agnes said, looking to Marge for support.

  “Certainly. It must be someone from Cowlick Junction, or maybe even as far away as Flatville.”

  I cast another sideways glance at Rose. Another man? How dare she do that to my father!

  She must have felt my stare, because she turned and shot me a murderous look. I glared right back. There was no doubt in my mind that my stepmother killed my father. And, now she was going to run off with some hick from nowhere and live the high-life off my insurance money.

  I really hated that woman.

  I quickly excused myself, leaving Marge and Agnes as they were still pondering the identity of Mr. Mysterious, and started across the room with one thing on my mind—ripping those Clairol-red strands right out of that murdering, two-timing, witch’s skull.

  I was almost there, too, when I was sidelined by Jake Buford, owner of Lake Loon’s only gas station.

  Jake was a likeable fellow, even though he was perhaps one card shy of a full deck. He always reminded me of Gomer Pyle, well actually a combination of Gomer and Willy Wonka (the new one) all rolled into one and crammed into a pair of Carhart overalls.

  “Julie, I have to talk to you,” he blurted, grabbing a hold of my arm.

  “Can it wait, Jake? I’ve got something to do.”

  “No,” he persisted. “It’s important.”

  I sighed. I guess mutilating Rose would have to wait. “Okay, what can I do for you, Jake?”

  He nervously pushed a mop of black bang out of his face, just to have it fall back over his eyes again. “Well, first off, I’m real sorry about your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And, I just wanted you to know that I don’t cut corners. I did a good job on your dad’s brakes.”

  I was confused. “His brakes? What are you talking about, Jake?”

  “I worked on his brakes just a few days before the accident.”

  Jake’s station had two pumps out front and a small automotive shop in the back where he took on side jobs.

  “I’m still not sure what you’re talking about. Was there something wrong with the brakes on my father’s car?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Well, they say that his brakes failed when he was coming down the pass between here and Cowlick Junction. That’s what caused his accident. But, I swear—”

  I held up a silencing hand. “Slow down. Who said that the accident was caused by failed brakes? I was told that he lost control of the car. No one said anything about his brakes.”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t know. Just people around town, I guess.”

  “Really?” I mulled this new information over for a second before asking, “Any chance they could have given out for some other reason?”

  Jake made another swipe at his bangs and shifted nervously from foot to foot. “No, not unless something happened to the brake line. Even if they were wearing down, they wouldn’t just give out like that.”

  “Is the brake line easy to get to?”

  “I suppose, if you know what you’re doing.”

  I peered over at Rose again, who was putting on a stellar performance as the grieving widow for her groupies. Looking at her, I just couldn’t imagine that she would know the difference between a brake line and a gas line. No, she had to have had help—more than likely from that boyfriend of hers.

  There was one person who I could trust to straighten this mess out—Sheriff Maddox. Scanning the crowd, I found him next to the buffet table, heckling up with the local geezers.

  Sheriff Wade Maddox was another person who hadn’t changed much in the years I had been gone. He was still dressed in his usual attire—a stained plaid shirt and worn-knee jeans hiked up to his chest and held in place with rainbow-colored suspenders. However, despite his less than professional appearance, Sheriff Maddox was a good law man. He was just the person I needed to talk to.

  “Sheriff,” I said, wading right into his group of cronies, interrupting what I bet was the ending of a dirty joke. “I need to speak to you.” I peered suggestively at the good ole boys around him. “Alone, please.”

  There were a few disgruntled grunts before the men dispersed.

  “Sheriff,” I started. He acknowledged me with a nod and continued chewing on a chicken leg. “I want to talk to you about my father’s death.”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t think it was an accident.”

  He chuckled, the spaces between his well-stretched buttoned-down shirt widened. I averted my eyes from the tuffs of black hair that peeked between the gaps.

  I continued a little less confidently. “I think he was murdered…by Rose.”

  That really cracked him up. He laughed so hard, pieces of half-chewed meat fell out of his mouth. “Rose? Are you kidding? That’s just your grief talking, Julie. Your daddy had an accident, that’s all.”

  I shook my head. “No, Rose murdered him. I know she did. You see, Marge and Agnes told me that there were problems between Rose and my father—another man.”

  He gnawed on the end of his chicken bone, smacking his lips and regarding me curiously.

  “Another man? Who?”

  “I don’t know, yet,” I said, drawing a deep breath and continuing with my theory. “But Cliff Barker said that my father was getting ready to change the beneficiary on his insurance policy from Rose to me. She must have found out and killed him before he could go through with it. The policy was worth a million dollars.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, and there’s more. Jake Buford said that he worked on my father’s brakes a few weeks ago and they were in good shape.”

  “Yeah, but Jake’s…well, you know…” He used the bare chicken bone to trace a circle in the air around his ear.

  “He may be a little off, but he’s a good mechanic. You know that, Sheriff.”

  Maddox paused, shaking his head. Then, hitching his thumbs inside his suspenders, he puffed his chest and let out a huge sigh. “Okay. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check into what you’re saying.” With that, he walked off to rejoin his cronies.

  My heart sank. Who was he trying to kid? He wasn’t going to check into anything. I could tell that he didn’t buy my theory. What I needed was more proof. I needed to find Rose’s lover.

  I scrutinized the room. I wasn’t so sure that Rose had to go as far as Flatville or Cowlick Junction to find her mystery lover. Lake Loon was full of idiots stupid enough to hook up with Rose.

  My eyes settled on Harvey Williams, the banker. Recently widowed and wealthy, he was a good prospect; that is, if you overlooked the nasty comb-over. Then, there was Cletus Jackson the car dealer. With a trim waistline, full head of hair, and sharp creases in his khakis, he was by far the best-looking bachelor in Rose’s age bracket.

  I squinted at both. Was either of them a big enough idiot to
commit murder for Rose?

  I decided to start with Harvey, the banker. Comb-over aside, he was the closest thing this town had to Warren Buffet. My bet was that Rose would choose money over looks any day.

  “Hello, Harvey. How’s the banking business going?”

  “Julie, so sorry about your father.”

  “Thanks. Speaking of my father, I…uh…couldn’t help wondering if his accounts were all squared away at the bank. I would hate to think of Rose as being burdened with any unnecessary stress at this time,” I lied.

  Harvey suddenly regarded me with interest. “How nice of you to ask,” he purred. “Things must be going well for you up in the big city.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, you could say that.” Truth was, my budget was tighter than Oprah’s girdle.

  He bent forward, a sly glint in his eye, “Actually, I shouldn’t bring up business at a time like this, but would you let Rose know that her back payments can wait a few more days? I’m sure that during her grief, she’s—”

  “Payments?”

  “Yes, for her car loan. She’s only a couple of months behind. Although, I did hear that she would be receiving a large insurance settlement, so—”

  “Car loan, huh? Excuse me, Harvey.” I walked away, scratching Harvey off my list of possible lovers. All that man had on his mind were Rose’s assets—monetary, not physical.

  I found Cletus Jackson by the buffet line, piling seconds on his plate. “Julie,” he said, as I approached, “sorry for your loss.”

  “Hello Cletus. Car sales been good?”

  He smiled slyly. “Yes, as a matter of fact, they’ve been real good.”

  I studied him suspiciously, letting my eyes roam from his Grecian Formulaenhanced hair right down to the gold nugget pinky ring on his right hand. Money aside, this guy was just the type of slime-ball who would attract Rose. “So, I heard you sold a car to Rose recently.”

  He tilted his head back and chuckled. I could see the gold filling on his back molar. “That’s right. She was an easy sale, too. You know Rose…when she sees something she wants, she just goes for it.”