Free Widows' Watch by Nancy Herndon

as what?”
    â€œDo you think that Dimitra was a battered woman?”
    â€œThat is a question that you should ask Dimitra,” Lydia replied evenly. “It is not information that I would be likely to have, is it?”
    â€œWell, if you were friends with her—”
    â€œAcquaintances,” corrected Lydia. And then she surprised Elena with a warm smile. “I wish you the best of luck, my dear. Both with this case and your career. If I can ever be of assistance, do not hesitate to call on me. It is my feeling that every citizen should contribute in whatever way they can to the cause of justice.”
    When Elena left the classroom, Leo was waiting for her. They walked out together, and she asked if he had come up with anything.
    â€œWell, there’s that old cowboy. He left as soon as he saw I was talking to people, and although he claims he was here yesterday afternoon, nobody remembers seeing him.”
    â€œThat doesn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t here,” Elena pointed out. “Some of these people are bound to be forgetful.”
    â€œSure, but the thing is Mrs. Beeman said he’s an admirer of Dimitra Potemkin, so I asked around. It turns out he was her country-music dancing partner here at the center, and her husband didn’t like it. Dimitra and old T. Bob were a real two-stepping, Cotton-Eyed-Joe couple until she broke her hip, and we’ve got a pretty fair idea of who caused that. Think about it. Maybe this T. Bob Tyler, who everybody agrees just loves the ladies, felt it was his old-timey Western duty to rub out Boris for Mrs. Boris’ safety. Maybe he feels responsible for that broken hip. Maybe he figures, with Boris gone, he and Dimitra can get together.”
    â€œGood grief!” said Elena. “Two boyfriends?”
    â€œTwo?”
    â€œOmar Ashkenazi.” Elena shook her head and opened the door to the car they had checked out of the police garage. “Weird case,” she muttered, starting the motor. “We got one dead old man; one crippled-up, happy widow; an absentee son and two possible boyfriends as suspects. Not your usual murder case.”
    â€œOur usual murder case is a drive-by shooting. Be thankful for the change of pace.”

9
    Tuesday, September 28, 5:40 P.M.
    Finding her mother at the stove cooking, Elena went to the refrigerator for salad ingredients. “How come I didn’t see you at Socorro Heights?” she asked. “I thought you were going to spend the day there.”
    â€œOnly the morning. Setting up weaving demonstrations and discussing the possibility of lessons. Have you heard rumors that Dimitra Potemkin was a battered woman?”
    â€œEveryone dances around it, but the implication is there.” After chopping green onions and tomatoes, Elena added lettuce to the salad bowl.
    â€œNot that I think she killed Boris—even in self-defense.” Harmony was dicing potatoes at the counter.
    Elena agreed. “Her alibi probably covers the time of death.”
    â€œAnd she didn’t have the aura of someone who just committed murder.”
    â€œRight, Mom.” Elena grinned, tossing the salad while Harmony put the finishing touches on a skillet full of chile verde, which smelled ambrosial. “The son, Lance, might have done it.”
    â€œWhy would you think that?” Harmony spiced and tasted the chile, then added the diced potatoes.
    â€œWell, I’ve heard that he threatened Boris because of Dimitra. And nobody thinks they got along well. They didn’t even speak in recent years—except for a few fights.”
    Harmony nodded. “Greek tragedy on the border.”
    â€œRight. Sophocles for seniors. Maybe Dimitra asked Lance to kill Boris.”
    â€œNonsense.”
    â€œAnyway, it looks bad that we can’t get hold of him. What’d you think of the bridge group? Did you meet them?”
    Harmony put a lid on the skillet and leaned against the