Free Death Crashes the Party by Vickie Fee

there.”
    â€œI know. That had already occurred to me.”
    â€œUnfortunately, you don’t really want to steer the investigation in that direction.”
    â€œNo, Di. As much as I hate it, I can’t ignore the McKay connection. A lot of people work for the company—especially when you take into account all the part-time workers and casual labor and independent contractors. I plan to spend tomorrow afternoon seeing what I can find out about the Farrell brothers and the murders and the drugs on the truck. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
    â€œI wouldn’t waste my time trying to talk you out of anything. But, honestly, what can you do that the police haven’t done already?” Di said.
    â€œI can avoid wasting time by looking at Larry Joe or Daddy Wayne as having any kind of involvement. I may not be objective, but I am certain of their complete innocence in all of this. Plus, I should be able to snoop a bit and wrangle any information that might be helpful from the trucking company without arousing too much suspicion. That’s as good a place to start as any.”
    â€œOh, snooping around reminds me of something Dave said.”
    â€œReally?” I said with prurient interest.
    â€œYeah, the cops are doing some kind of stakeout or special surveillance tonight. He wouldn’t tell me what it’s all about. But he acted like it was a big deal, so it’s probably related somehow to the murders. It’s not like we have that much big crime here in Dixie.”
    I let Di go hurriedly when I heard Larry Joe coming up the steps.
    â€œI just had a call from Ralph,” he said. “Seems one of our contractors has bailed on us. I’m going to have to drive to Huntsville tomorrow to pick up a load. I better try to get some sleep.”
    â€œHoney, I’m worried about you. You’re pushing yourself too hard. Can’t you hire someone else to drive to Huntsville?”
    â€œI’m afraid we’re already calling in favors just to cover orders, since the FBI has detained a couple of our regular drivers in Oklahoma.”
    Larry Joe stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. I snuggled up next to him, nuzzling my face against his scratchy nine o’clock shadow. Staring straight up, he said, “There’s Spackle on the ceiling.”
    â€œI thought it might be nice to paint the ceiling in here a different color,” I said innocently.
    â€œDid you have that thought before or after you knocked a hole in the ceiling?”
    â€œI’ll plead the Fifth on that one.”
    â€œLook, Liv, I know I haven’t been spending much time with you lately,” he said, pulling me closer. “When all this is over, we’ll get away for the weekend—just the two of us. Promise.”
    â€œMmm, that sounds good. But you’re still getting behind on your chores around here,” I teased. “You did promise me an upstairs shower—and a light fixture in the bathroom. Remember?”
    â€œI promise you shall have a working shower and a light by Thanksgiving. If I can’t finish it, I’ll hire somebody.”
    Larry Joe dozed off, and I knew he must be delirious, offering to pay someone to work on the house. I brushed my teeth, slipped on a nightshirt, and got back into bed beside my snoring husband. I was glad at least one of us could sleep.
    The next morning I offered to cook Larry Joe some breakfast, but he said he’d rather just have cold leftover meat loaf on toast. Not a first for him, and at least he ate something, instead of just dashing out the door with a mug of coffee.
    Since it happened to be a rare Saturday that I didn’t have an event to work, I had called Winette to see if Residential Rehab was working on a project this weekend. They were. I had signed up for the morning work crew, and Di had volunteered to join me. Residential Rehab, chaired by Winette, collects donations of money and