Free Death by the Light of the Moon by Joan Hess

around a swampy yard for an old lady in a wheelchair, but like dental surgery, labor, and televised football games, this, too, would pass.
    â€œDrunken driving in a wheelchair,” Keith said admiringly. “You know, that’s a class act.”
    Pauline stiffened. “I do not think it proper for you to snicker at your grandmother, despite her propensity for immature behavior and overindulgence.”
    â€œAll I said was—”
    â€œYou snickered. I distinctly heard you snicker when—”
    â€œShall we continue the search?” I interrupted. Both subsided, and we arrived at the edge of the bayou without further analyses of Miss Justicia’s propensities. We followed the bank at a prudent distance. As we came around a clump of shrubbery, I saw a glint of silver in the water that was not the elusive glitter of moonlight.
    I stopped in mid-step and took a deep breath. “You’d better wait here, Pauline.”
    She must have seen the glint, too, because her face turned chalky. “Is that…is that…?”
    â€œI’m afraid it might be.” I patted her on the shoulder, then gestured for Keith to accompany me. We halted at the edge of the odiferous water. As I’d suspected, the glint came from the rim of a wheel. The back of the wheelchair was visible, indicating the water was no more than a foot or two deep.
    Keith took off his sunglasses and gulped. “Do you think she pushed it in here for some screwy reason?”
    â€œLet’s hope so. Go find your father and Phoebe.” Once he was gone, I gave myself a minute to dredge up some courage, then stepped out of my slippers and into the water.
    It was as tepid as discarded tea as it lapped against my calves. My feet sank in several inches of silky mud that oozed between my toes. A submerged branch scraped one leg, almost eliciting a bloodcurdling scream that would have brought Stanford at a run. On the far side, something slithered into the water with a soft plop. Two fierce red eyes regarded me from within a burrow. I ordered myself not even to speculate on what might consider the mud to be its home, sweet home.
    When I reached the wheelchair, I grasped the handles on the back. The thing weighed more than I’d imagined, and my footing was not what I would have preferred. It took a great deal of puffing and slipping to wrestle the chair to one side. It relented with a drawn-out slurp and a splash that caught me in the face.
    Whispy white hair floated to the surface. I yanked the chair the rest of the way over and grabbed Miss Justicia’s shoulder. I dragged her to the bank, laid her in the grass, and crouched beside her to listen for any sign that she was alive. Muddy water dribbled from her mouth as her jaw fell open, exposing sleek pink gums. Her eyes were flat and unseeing. Her concave chest was still.
    Pauline approached, her hands clasped. “Is Justicia dead?”
    â€œYes,” I said gently. I sat back on my heels and tried to let the horror of the moment drain off me like the water on my legs and forearms. “It’s been at least fifteen minutes since we saw her drive across the yard. She could have been in the bayou most of that time.” I looked up as Stanford, Keith, and Phoebe came out of the bushes. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” I told them. “Miss Justicia must have become disoriented in the dark. She went off the path and drove into the bayou. Although the water’s not very deep, the wheelchair held her down.”
    Stanford walked past his mother’s body and stared at the wheelchair. “The damn contraption’s heavier than a refrigerator, considering it’s mostly a collection of hollow metal tubes. I told her time and again to get a smaller model, but she insisted on state-of-the-art technology, maximum horsepower, and front-wheel drive.” He turned back with a misty smile. “She did enjoy her wild rides around