Free Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) by Christy Barritt Page A

as I skulked around my house, occasionally feeling the need to break out into the sand dance.
    The radio remained the same around my couch, my chairs, the breakfast bar. Where would someone plant a listening device? I’d seen pictures of a few online, and I knew they were so small they could fit nearly anywhere.
    As I passed an end table, the radio squealed. I paused and stepped closer. The squeals and static became louder.
    I set the radio on the ground. My throat went dry as I picked up a picture of me and Kent. I turned it over and searched the back of the frame. My fingers brushed something underneath the stand, neatly camouflaged by the black cardboard leg that propped it up.
    I held up the small plastic device, no bigger than a quarter.
    Who in the world in Boring had access to technology like this? Who’d been able to sneak into my home and plant it when I wasn’t around? What kind of person had set up shop in the Flynns’ house so they could videotape me?
    Chills raced across my skin.
    I had no idea.
    But I was going to find out.

    When I stepped into the Pronto Café thirty minutes later, all of the chatter zapped into silence. People stared at me, their food frozen halfway into their mouths.
    I knew what they were saying before I’d interrupted their gossip.
    That city slicker. Left the tank for her gas grill open and when the light bulb in the shed mysteriously sparked, the whole place went up in the flames.
    If I was to voice my concern that someone had purposefully set my shed on fire, I’d only sound paranoid. Instead, I ignored everyone—but only because I wanted to keep my “connection and credibility” legit—and I stomped over to the corner booth where I could listen to life take place all around me. I hadn’t ordered their specialty, green eggs and ham. No, I was in the mood for a half-pound burger, loaded with bacon, cheese and mayo. Oh, and I wanted fries with plenty of salt on them. I wouldn’t dip them in ketchup—that condiment seemed too much like a vegetable. I wanted ranch dressing. Just for kicks, I ordered a full-strength, highly-caffeinated, liquid-sugar soda.
    After I’d found the bugging device, I’d dropped it down the garbage disposal, my stomach tight with anxiety as I’d listened to the plastic crack and shred as my sink digested it. At that point, I’d given up any thoughts of cooking dinner and come here to the café.
    It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Kent would make it home in time to eat together. No doubt this would be another long day at the pharmacy, as well as another long day of me feeling disconnected and utterly alone, not to exaggerate or anything. I mean, what kind of husband didn’t come home when something on his property was ablaze? I knew Kent thought I was self- sufficient, but really? Really?
    Did he not know that someone had bugged our home? That someone had sent me a threatening note? Okay. I guess he didn’t know. But still—shouldn’t he be able to read my mind?
    I savored each bite of my meal as I watched the TV perched high in the corner. Dr. Phil giving marriage advice. Maybe I’d learn something.
    I never thought I’d be one to need marriage advice. Never. Kent and I both came from stable homes. We had good educations and had dated a respectable two years before marrying. What did we have to worry about? Obviously, I should have listened more in our premarriage counseling courses. Certainly you weren’t supposed to feel so disconnected in a good marriage.
    I tuned Dr. Phil out. Thinking about my marriage was getting me nowhere except deeper into my tense ball of stress.
    Beside me, Emma Jean chatted—rather loudly, I might add—with the owner of Pronto, Barbara Ann, about the way the town used to be. Two golfers sat on the other side of me, and they might as well have been speaking a different language. Two men three seats over talked about the upcoming Ginseng Festival here in Boring.
    My ears perked when someone in a booth behind me