Free Drop Dead Chocolate by Jessica Beck Page B

way.”
    “Thanks for saying that, but we both know that’s not true. When you were married to Max, you still always managed to find time for me.”
    “Well, I was married to Max, after all,” I said with a smile. “There were times when a little of him went a long way. You were my relief outlet.”
    She smiled. “Still, I’ll try to do better from now on.”
    “No worries, Grace. We’re good,” I said.
    She lowered her voice as she asked her next question. “Has your mother said much about the murder?”
    “She wanted to drop out of the race, but I think I talked her out of it,” I said softly enough so that Momma wouldn’t hear me.
    “That would have been disastrous,” Grace said.
    “Tell me about it. Can you imagine Evelyn Martin running our fair city? I’m already having nightmares about it.”
    “I’m talking about her image,” Grace said. “If she quit now, it would look like she’s abandoning April Springs just when the town needs her.”
    “Like I said, she’s agreed to run, but there’s one catch, and it’s a whopper.”
    “What is it?” Grace asked.
    “There is to be no campaigning for her of any sort,” I replied. “I told her that it’s not going to be easy keeping folks from spontaneously putting signs up, but she expects me to keep the town in check.”
    “Good luck with that,” Grace said.
    “I know.”
    “Ladies,” Momma called out from the kitchen, “the food is on the table.”
    Grace and I joined her, and after we sat down, we said a blessing, then prepared to eat. There was enough food on the table to feed half of April Springs, with two kinds of potatoes, yams, green beans, cranberry sauce, and, of course, Momma’s justifiably famous lemon chicken.
    “This all looks so lovely,” Grace said. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”
    “We’re pleased to have you,” Momma said.
    As I filled my plate, I said, “You know, Jake would have really loved this.”
    “You could always take him a plate,” Momma said.
    “No, ma’am. They are his rules, and I’m going to make him live by them,” I said with a grin.
    I’d had maybe three bites when there was a knock at the door. “Momma, did you invite anyone else to dinner?”
    “Of course not,” she said. “Perhaps Jake changed his mind.”
    “I doubt it. If I had to guess, I’m betting it’s the police chief. He probably smelled your chicken from the station,” I said as I got up and headed to the door.
    It was neither man, though.
    “George, come in,” I said as I saw my old friend.
    “You’re eating,” he said. “I’ll come back later.”
    “Who is it?” Momma called out from the dining room.
    “George,” I said.
    “Invite him in, Suzanne.”
    I grinned at him. “You heard her. Come in.”
    “I don’t want to impose,” he said, though I noticed that his attention was drawn to the delightful aroma coming from the other room.
    “Please,” I said. “We have enough food to feed an army. Grace is here too, so come on. The more the merrier.”
    He nodded. “If you’re sure.”
    “You don’t want to offend Momma, do you?”
    “Not a chance of that,” George said.
    We walked into the dining room together.
    “Hello, Dorothy,” he said, doffing a hat he wasn’t even wearing. I’d seen Southern men repeat that gesture all my life, and it never ceased to make me smile.
    “George, come in. I’ll get you a plate.”
    “No need, ma’am. I just wanted to have a word with Suzanne. I can come back after you’re finished.”
    “George,” my mother said sternly. “I won’t ask you again. Sit.”
    He did as he was told, a broad smile on his face. “Yes, ma’am. I won’t say no to you in your own house.”
    As we ate, we discussed many things, but two topics were tacitly off the table: the upcoming election and the murder of our mayor.
    After we were finished, Momma said, “I wish I’d baked a fresh pie.”
    “I for one wouldn’t know where to put it,” I said.
    She frowned as she