Free Justifiable by Dianna Love, Wes Sarginson Page A

without a fight.
    Or did she have word of Henry’s newspaper legal eagles filing an assault charge?
    His cell phone rang. Another unknown caller.
    He keyed the button to talk and smiled when he asked her, “Change your mind about lunch?”
    “Careful who you talk to. You’re being followed.”  The line died.
    Riley pulled the phone away slowly and stared at it. He raised his eyes and took in the parking deck, but no one loitered.
    He’d heard that voice before. Just after midnight this morning. The killer had his cell phone number.

Chapter 10
     
    “Bless me father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession. I...I had impure thoughts about the teenage boy who shovels my driveway.”  Crying and sniffles, then Mrs. Feldman cleared her throat.
    Here it comes again. Same thing I heard two weeks ago.
    “I know it’s wrong, but my husband travels all the time with his job.”
    Can’t criticize him for that, besides getting away probably keeps him sane around you. Change of place, change of perspective.
    “He doesn’t appreciate me, father. I’m stuck home raising three kids and doing their homework at night, plus dealing with anything that needs to be fixed around the house or the car while he takes people to dinner.”
    Get a life. Or better yet, get a job during the day while the kids are in school. He waited through the pause as she made squirming noises.
    “I tried to talk to him about it, but he just ignores me, or if we argue he tells me to find something to do during the day.”
    See?
    “I know it’s wrong to think about a seventeen-year-old boy, especially being a married woman, but Cody makes me feel special.”
    Not special, young. You want to relive your youth.
    “He makes me happy, but not like we’ve done anything, just that he brightens my day. When I’m happy, I don’t hit the dog or my kids.”
    You hit the kids?
    “My husband doesn’t understand how tiring it is to raise three children alone. I’m exhausted all the time and stressed out. I deserve some peace and rest, too.”
    Yes, you do deserve rest. Eternal rest.

Chapter 11
     
    If I died right now I could ask God why humans hurt one another.
    Margo Cortese considered praying for a swift death before her brain exploded from an excruciating headache. She could suffer the pain in her head better than that in her heart.
    Poor Sally. And what about Enrique? Where could the wee one be? 
    Swallowing the lump in her throat, Margo licked her dry lips and kept trudging down the street toward St. Catherine’s. Thankfully, temperatures were still in the mid-thirties at lunchtime, warm by Philly standards in January. Her black dress pants, raspberry cotton turtleneck and sturdy canvas jacket were ideal in this cool breeze, but she could do without the endless blue sky and bright sunshine she’d send a prayer of thanks for on any other day.
    How about a few clouds, huh? Just until my head stops feelin’ like a swollen melon about to split.
    Sunglasses spared her the worst of the glare blazing off the snow, but the bright light still aggravated her pounding head as she picked her way along the narrow strip of half-shoveled walkway running from Second Street to St. Catherine’s stone-and-mortar chapel.
    Had to remind Valdez to clear a wider path for church and outreach center visitors. This would be a treacherous walk for the elderly, who seemed to make up most of St. C’s parishioners. Not that St. C’s was much different from any other inner-city parish, but after only seven months here, Margo was still adjusting to feelin’ so young in comparison. At her last parish in a suburb of San Francisco, she’d been considered middle-aged at twenty-nine years.
    She was not middle-aged.
    Just as Monsignor often said, “Change of place, change of perspective.”
    When she reached the steps to the chapel, Margo made a right turn, taking the walkway that led to the entrance of the three-story, brick addition attached to St.