Free Maid of Murder by Amanda Flower Page A

western Pennsylvania, a choice that had thrilled my mother, a Presbyterian minister, to no end. As intended, Carmen had met her future husband, Chip Tuchelli, while there, and they’d married right after graduation. They had moved back to Stripling and established their careers as teachers: Carmen, high school, and Chip, elementary. They’d borne Nicholas, and now my blessed sister was pregnant with twin girls. It was all very disgusting.
    Before Carmen could remind me that Nicholas was her son, my mother entered the living room. She wore a long patchwork skirt and a lime green T-shirt. Her gray hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.
    “Oh, good, you’re finally here,” my mother said. “How’s Olivia?”
    “She’s in surgery, or she was. She might be out by now.”
    Carmen sat down beside me on the couch. “Mom told us what happened. Mark really pulled Olivia out of the fountain?”
    I nodded.
    Carmen shook her head. “I just read about her upcoming wedding in last week’s paper. The announcement was the entire front page.”
    My mother gave me a beady stare. “Yes, the paper was the first that I had heard of the upcoming wedding. Why do you think that is, India?”
    I hid my expression behind Nicholas’s head, which was a challenge as it wove back and forth. “You don’t use the Internet.”
    “What’s that, India? I didn’t hear.”
    I peered around Nicholas. “Maybe you need a better news source.”
    “Like my daughter, perhaps?” Glowering, she adopted the same tone she used with church parishioners to encourage them to cough up something extra for the offering plate.
    Carmen changed the subject. “How are the Blockens holding up? Mom said that you went to the hospital after you dropped off Mark. Will Olivia be all right?”
    “Of course, she’ll be all right.” I looked around. “Where’s Mark anyway?”
    “Outside with your father,” Mom said. “You should have come directly from the hospital. Mark hasn’t said three words since you left. Maybe you can get him to talk.”
    “What do you want me to do? Beat what happened out of him?” The all-too-familiar knife of guilt twisted in my chest.
    “I don’t like your tone, Miss. You can’t let him bottle it all up inside again. Like last time. If you had been here then . . .”
    Carmen watched us from the corner of the room as if preparing herself to break up another fight. Nicholas looked bored with the pointless adult chatter, jumped from my lap, and ran outside. “I’m gonna help Grampa and Pa cook.”
    “Pa?” I asked my sister, happy for the change of subject.
    “I’m sure it’s only a phase. He’s fascinated with the wild west,” she answered me.
    I laughed. Carmen frowned. Our reactions summed up our relationship. I followed my mother and sister to the backyard where my brother-in-law and father scorched veggie burgers and tofu hot dogs on the grill.
    Chip waved at me with his spatula and continued a debate with my father about the best way to skewer tofu. I sat at the picnic table, set and ready for the meal, and shaded my eyes. The afternoon temperature and humidity rose in tandem.
    Mark sat in a lawn chair not far from the grill, staring into space. I waved at him, but he looked through me.
    I shook off the foreboding feeling creeping up my spine. “Can’t we eat inside with the central air?”
    My mother huffed. “Do you want to be dependent on a conditioned environment for the rest of your life, India, like an unfortunate lab rat?” She stalked to the barbecue to instruct my father and brother-in-law in the obvious method to skewer tofu.
    I took that as a no.
    My sister lowered herself slowly to the bench seat.
    “Whew. I don’t remember being this hot when I was expecting Nicky.”
    “He was born in January,” I remarked.
    Carmen fanned herself with a plastic plate. After a minute of creating Hurricane Andrew force winds, she asked, “What do you think happened to Olivia?” She glanced at Mark. “How do