Free Who Dat Whodunnit by Greg Herren Page A

if I like the sound of that.” I followed her into the living room, where she curled up in a reclining chair. She picked up a remote control and clicked the big-screen TV on.
    “…has been positively identified as Marina Werner, daughter of Dick Werner, pastor of Dove Ministry of Truth, the megachurch in Kenner best known for its anti-gay stance. The police report that Ms. Werner, who worked as the treasurer for Dove Ministry and was also helping organize this weekend’s Protect Marriage rally, was shot in her apartment yesterday morning between nine a.m. and noon. Kenner Police spokesman Jack Fournier states they are following up several leads, and have set up a hotline for anyone to call if they have any information.”
    “That’s terrible,” Mom said, a grim look on her face as she changed the channel. “You know, I don’t believe anyone should be killed because of what they believe, but I’m not sorry that woman is dead. You reap what you sow, as her Bible says.”
    “Mom!” I said, my mind reeling. Tara’s murdered, and now this woman?
    “What? She was a homophobic bitch helping spread hate,” Mom replied. “It always amazes me how so-called Christians have absolutely no clue what their religion is about. Have they never read the Sermon on the Mount? They almost make me want to believe in their stupid religion—because it’s so comforting to think they’re all going to burn in hell for eternity.”
    “And those megachurches are the worst,” Dad said from behind me. He rubbed the top of my head. “Bilking people out of their money and promising salvation in return. What are you doing here so early, son?”
    I tried not to smile. Mom and Dad firmly believed no one should get up before noon. It was actually rather surprising they were up so early. I took a deep breath. Might as well get right to it. “Mom, when was the last time you saw your gun?”
    “The Glock?” Mom looked completely bewildered. She looked at Dad, who was equally puzzled. “We went to the shooting range Sunday afternoon, right? Before the playoff party—we were too tense and needed to blow off steam.” She laughed. “It’s amazing how much pretending you’re shooting Brett Favre can improve your aim.”
    “It really does, son,” Dad added.
    “I’ll have to remember that the next time I go shooting,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling. I was also unable to resist asking, “Are you going to pretend you’re shooting Peyton Manning the day of the Super Bowl?”
    “Of course not!” Mom looked appalled. “Peyton’s from New Orleans !”
    “What was I thinking?” I rolled my eyes. “So that was the last time you saw the Glock?”
    “Why are you asking about my gun?” Mom got up and walked into the kitchen. She opened the junk drawer and pulled out her gun case. She frowned. “That’s weird—it feels light,” she said as she opened it.
    Her jaw dropped and she turned, holding the little case open.
    It was empty.
    She swallowed. “I—I don’t understand. Where is it? I remember distinctly putting it back in the case at the range, and putting it back in the chest when we got home Sunday. Didn’t I, John?”
    Dad nodded. “I distinctly remember you putting it back when we got home.”
    “Someone stole my gun. I can’t believe it.” She sank back down into her chair. “Scotty, what’s going on? How did you know my gun was gone?”
    I filled them both in on Jared’s visit earlier that morning. Their eyes got wider and their faces whiter as I talked. Finally, I finished. “How late was Father Dan here?”
    Mom looked at Dad, who said, “Father Dan was the last to leave—around seven, wasn’t it?”
    Mom nodded. “The sun was up, I remember when he went out the back door. After you kids left, we started planning the protest.”
    I wasn’t even aware I’d been holding my breath. “Well, Jared says he got to her place around eight this morning, so that should put you both in the clear.” I