Free 3 Revenge of the Crafty Corpse by Lois Winston

didn’t keep any proof of it,” I said, “which would be very odd for an attorney, or—”
    “They never married,” added Mama.
    “But she took his name,” I reminded her. “For both herself and Karl. Why would she do that if she and Isidore never married?”
    “For the sake of propriety,” suggested Mama. “Consider the stigma of a child born out-of-wedlock back then. It’s not like today where young people start families, then eventually get around to marrying. Or not.”
    “We’re talking about Lucille here, Mama. When did she ever do anything for the sake of propriety?”
    “Maybe your husband can shed some light on all this,” said Ira. “When do you expect him home?”
    I took a deep breath before answering. “Actually, Karl won’t be coming home, Ira.”
    “He’s away on business?”
    “He died this past winter.”
    Ira’s mouth dropped open, but no sounds came out. Poor man. He’d spent weeks working up the courage to contact a sibling that he’d never meet. I didn’t know how to comfort him. An awkward silence settled over the room with Ira fighting to hold back his emotions and Mama and I at a loss for words.
    When the phone rang a moment later, I was glad for the excuse to leave the room, if only for a minute. Maybe I’d think of something to say by the time I returned.
    “Hello?”
    “Mrs. Pollack?”
    “Yes.”
    “This is Officer Harley from the Westfield Police Department.”
    Officer Harley and I had history. Thankfully, neither he nor his partner, Officer Fogarty, have leaked my trials and tribulations stemming from Dead Louse of a Spouse to the town newspaper. “How are you?” I asked, hoping he wasn’t calling for a donation to the Police Benevolent Association.
    “Can you get over to Sunnyside right away, ma’am?”
    “Of course. Has something happened to my mother-in-law?”
    “We may have to book her.”
    “Book her?” What sort of trouble could Lucille have gotten herself into already? “On what charges?”
    “Murder.”

six
    I grabbed my keys, dashed out the back door, and slammed smack into Zack’s chest.
    “Whoa! Where’s the fire?”
    “I’ve got to get to Sunnyside. Harley wants to charge Lucille with murder.”
    “Who’d she kill?”
    “He didn’t say. Crap!”
    “What?”
    “I ran out without saying anything to Mama and Ira.”
    “Who’s Ira?”
    “Karl’s half-brother.”
    “Huh?” Zack grabbed my arm as I started for my car. “You’re not making any sense. I’ll drive.”
    I didn’t argue with him. As much as I never again wanted to rely on any man, I wasn’t above accepting Zack’s knight-in-shining-
armor offer at the moment. Besides, the air conditioning worked far better in his Porsche Boxster than it did in my Hyundai. With the mercury still hovering close to triple digits, I’d compromise my scruples for a cooling blast of AC.
    As Zack sped out of the driveway, I pulled my cell phone from my purse and called home.
    Mama answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
    “Mama, I—”
    “Anastasia! Where in the world are you?”
    “On my way to Sunnyside. Something’s happened—”
    “What? Did that Bolshevik cow finally get what’s coming to her?”
    “Mama!”
    “Whatever happened, I’m sure she deserved it.”
    “Just make my apologies to Ira, please? I’ll be home as soon as possible.”
    “Don’t worry about Ira, dear. I’ll take very good care of him.”
    That’s what I was afraid of. By the time I returned, Ira, no doubt, would be armpits deep in family dirt and wishing he’d never rung my doorbell, but maybe that was a good thing. It would save me the trouble of having to explain that he hadn’t missed much by being five months too late to meet his half-brother. Not to mention that he’d most likely saved his bank accounts from Karl’s raiding fingers.
    “None of this makes sense,” I said as we zipped through downtown Westfield. “Lucille is many things—annoying, mean, strident, and a pain in