Free Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) by Katie Graykowski Page A

hurt...” My heart was pounding in my ears. “Do I need to have a talk with Missy Jester about her terrible boys?”
    “No.” Max’s eyes went huge. “Don’t butt in. I’m good.”
    “That’s it. Missy’s in charge of cleaning out the port-o-toilets for the Spring Carnival.” And I was having a talk with her. Clearly, her husband’s ninety-year-old sperm had been a decade or two past its expiration date. That defective sperm had created some mean boys. Then again, it could have been Missy’s clueless ovum. The only thing she brought to the marriage was her size-two body and a willingness to spend her husband’s money. After all, a trophy wife’s only insurance policy against working a day job was to pop out a kid...or two. Only, her two were bullies. If I couldn’t make the boys pay, then I’d make Missy pay.
    “We don’t have port-o-toilets at the Spring Carnival.” Monica spooned in a mouthful of soup.
    “We do now, and we need to make sure they’re extra nasty for Missy. She’s got the common sense God gave deodorant, so she probably won’t notice.” But I would know, and that was all that mattered. Payback was important.
    I tried to think of a way to turn the dinner conversation to Big Tommy’s blowing up, but I couldn’t think of a way to talk about it in front of the kids. Talking murder at the dinner table seemed like a bad idea.
    After dinner and while the boys were Minecrafting...all bets were off.

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Chapter 8
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    “Dinner was wonderful.” And very carb-y, thank God. As we sat on the back row of Ben’s in-house cinema room and watched the boys play Minecraft on a screen that took up an entire wall, I whispered, “Anything new on Big Tommy?”
    Ben’s stare turned vacant, like he was trying to figure out what I was talking about. “What about Big Tommy?”
    Monica leaned across me and whispered, “He was murdered.”
    “No, not again.” He shot us an are-you-kidding-me-right-now glare. “Not every death is a murder.” He spoke slowly in case English was our ninth or tenth language.
    “That’s what you said about Molly Miars.” Apparently the Lakeside PD only investigated real crimes like dognapping and people who watered their lawns more than two times a week. Even with the recent rains, the water shortage in Central Texas mandated yard-watering restrictions. Since Lakeside Yard of the Month was cutthroat, it was every man for himself. A lush, green lawn was as good as a signed confession.
    “Yes, but that was different. Molly wasn’t the person we all thought she was. Big Tommy...well, he had nothing to hide. Everyone loved him. His death was an accident.” Ben sounded so sure. “And last time, I was going off only what was in Molly Miars’s case file. I did the investigation myself, and I know what I saw.”
    Ben had a point about Big Tommy. He had been the town teddy bear. In addition to running a successful restaurant, he’d also run the food pantry, coached Little League, and volunteered for every charity under the sun.
    He was Jesus with a beer gut.
    Who would want to kill Jesus? Well, apart from the Romans, who I’m fairly certain hadn’t come back from the dead and blown up Big Tommy.
    Instead of leaning over me again, Monica got up, walked to the row in front of us, and knelt in the chair directly in front of Ben. “Okay then, why did his house blow up?”
    “Most likely a gas leak, or a burner on the gas stove was on but not lit.” Ben leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. It was like he wanted to take up more space. If he thought that made him dominant, man, he didn’t know me or Monica.
    “Isn’t that odd? He leaves the gas on in his house and also on the burner in the front yard?” For me, it was just too coincidental. I nodded toward Monica. “Tell him about the fire-washing-down-the-body thing.”
    “I just had a case—you know I’m a workers’ compensation adjuster, right?” Monica propped her elbows on the