Free Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) by Patricia H. Rushford

inside her parents’ house, Dorothy squealed. Holding her teddy bear in a death grip, she scrambled off the sofa and threw her arms around Angel’s legs. “I knew you’d come. I knew it.”
    Angel picked her up and hugged girl and bear. When she let go, Dorothy looked up at her. “Mrs. Delaney said you were a real Angel.”
    Angel laughed. “That’s my name, but I’m not—”
    “That means you can help my mommy, right? Mrs. Delaney said you would take care of everything.”
    Angel blinked back tears. “I’ll try.” What was her mother thinking, telling the kids she’d take care of everything?
    “Breakfast is ready,” Anna called from the kitchen.
    Angel set Dorothy down. “Better go eat.”
    “Are you coming too?”
    “In a minute.” She turned her attention to the other side of the room, where Tom was bringing Frank out to his chair.
    “Hey, Angel. Haven’t seen you for a while.” Tom nodded at her.
    “That’s because I’m usually sleeping at this hour.”
    Tom’s comment pushed a guilt button. The half-teasing, half-accusing look in his eyes told her he thought she should come around more often. Angel shed her coat at the hall closet and waited until her father was seated before leaning over to drop a quick kiss on his cheek. “Morning, Dad. You’re looking good.”
    He teared up as he so often did since his stroke. Once again expressing his disappointment. He glanced away as if he wanted nothing to do with her. Angel straightened and headed for the kitchen, determined not to feel the sharp barbs of his dismissal.
    “Did you make enough for me?” She headed straight for the cupboard and extracted her favorite coffee mug, one from a local artist, with clusters of grapes painted on a pale yellow background speckled with purple.
    “Don’t I always?”
    Angel kissed her mother’s cheek and helped herself to a cup, then dished up a portion of the eggs that had been scrambled with mushrooms, onions, broccoli, and yellow pepper then topped with cheese. “The kids have settled down.”
    “Yes,” Anna whispered. “I told them their mother would be home soon.”
    “Right,” Angel said, “and that I’d take care of everything. Ma . . .”
    “Shush. We’ll talk about that later.”
    Once they were seated around the table, Anna offered the blessing.
    Dorothy peered at her eggs and wrinkled her nose. “Mommy never puts green stuff and shrooms in our eggs.”
    “Pick them out, then,” Gracie told her.
    “You’re lucky Dad isn’t here,” Brian said, “or he’d make you eat it for a week.” He paused, giving Anna a stricken look. “I guess he can’t do that anymore, huh?”
    Anna smiled. “Would you like me to make some plain eggs for you, Dorothy?”
    “Yes, please.” She handed her plate up.
    Brian lifted a bite of the eggs to his mouth and grimaced. He swallowed without chewing and washed it down with milk.
    “Broccoli isn’t your favorite, either?” Angel grinned.
    He glowered. “I eat whatever’s on my plate.”
    “Better make some plain eggs for Brian too.” Angel reached over and patted his arm. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “My mom used to have to leave stuff out of my omelettes when I was your age.”
    “I’m sorry, kids. I wasn’t thinking—it’s been a busy morning,” Anna said. “How about you, Gracie?”
    “It’s good.” She was halfway through. “I like my eggs this way.”
    Anna good-naturedly scrambled more eggs and put the untouched portions of the original omelettes into a container for the refrigerator. Serving the untarnished eggs, she asked, “Is this more to your liking, Signor Brian? Signorina Dorothy?”
    They giggled at her Italian accent and thanked her with a unique version of their own accents.
    While they ate, Angel made a point of watching each of the children. They were already dressed and ready for school, eating greedily, now that they had eggs with no gross stuff, and acting as if yesterday had never happened and that