Free Spackled and Spooked by Jennie Bentley

waited a suitable year before getting married, and were still acting like newlyweds four years later.
    Cora, a short, plump brunette with lovely blue eyes and a sweet smile, was busy at the stove when we came into the kitchen, her fluffy hair standing out in a halo around her flushed face. “We’re having chicken fajitas,” she explained over her shoulder. “Oh, hi, Derek.” He bent to kiss her on the cheek and to steal a piece of deliciously browned chicken out of the pan at the same time. He stuck it in his mouth and blew on his fingers. Cora giggled.
    “Can I do anything?” I asked, hoping she’d say it was all under control. I’m not much of a cook, having always had only myself to cook for and no real inclination to learn. My former boyfriend, Philippe, preferred eating out, and when we didn’t, when he had something else to do, I had usually just nuked a bowl of macaroni and cheese or mixed up some tuna salad for myself.
    Cora smiled, delighted. “Would you like to make the guacamole?”
    “Sure,” I said, relieved. Even I could mash a couple of avocados in a bowl.
    “Excellent. And Derek, would you mind helping your dad set the table?”
    Derek declared himself willing and able, and we all got to work. Cora stood by my side for a minute or two to make sure I knew what I was doing before going back to whatever it was that was simmering on the stove, filling the house with the spicy aroma of Mexico.
    “So how are things going over at the house?” Dr. Ben asked when dinner was on the table and we’d all held hands over grace. Derek had his mouth full, so it fell to me to answer.
    “I guess it’s going as well as can be expected. We’ve done most of the tear-out. Kitchen cabinets, carpets, wallpaper. We’re leaving the toilets and light fixtures where they are until we’re ready to replace them.”
    “Tomorrow I’m going to shore up the floor,” Derek added. “Rent a handheld hole digger, pour some concrete, and set up some metal posts to get the floors level before we start putting in the new kitchen.” To me he added, “I may be a little late picking you up tomorrow morning. I have to stop at the hardware store first, and they don’t open till nine.”
    I nodded. I had no problem with that, not being an early riser under the best of circumstances.
    “I knew Peggy Murphy, you know,” Cora said unexpectedly. Both Derek and I turned to look at her. She added, “Glenn and Brian both used to drink at the Shamrock. They were both hot-tempered, and sometimes they’d get into it. I met Peggy at the police station one night, after Roger Tucker, who was chief of police back then, had arrested them both for drunk and disorderly conduct.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Dr. Ben said.
    “We never talked about it,” Cora answered, with a smile. “She was long gone by the time you and I met.” She shook her head, looking down at her food. “It still amazes me sometimes, to think of what happened to her. There, but for the grace of God, and all that.”
    She took another bite of food while Derek and I looked at each other, not quite sure what to say. Dr. Ben was the one who got the conversation back on track.
    “I never had to take care of Peggy Murphy at the clinic. Are you saying that her husband used to knock her around? I don’t remember any injuries or bruises or anything on the body.”
    “Well, he must have had some issues,” Cora said reasonably, “to do what he did.”
    Couldn’t argue with that.
    “What made him do it?” I asked. “Didn’t he leave a note or anything? Some explanation for why he decided to murder her?” I looked around the table.
    “If he did, I never heard about it,” Dr. Ben said. “Although the police probably didn’t tell me everything. They called me in to pronounce time of death, and to make sure there wasn’t anything that could be done for any of the victims, but I wasn’t involved in the investigation beyond that. The bodies went to Portland, to the