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days I preferred the comfort of my oversized queen bed.

CHAPTER 5

    “H omer Everett Day, what a hoot!” Phyllis put on sparkly reading glasses to study the pictures of my float on my computer. “Only in Oiltop.”
    “Homer wasn’t the saint they make him out to be, you know.” Grandma Ruth reached for a gluten-free cookie. She picked out a pecan and walnut scotchie. “I was working on an article that would have blown the doors off his untarnished reputation. That is, until Lois ended up dead.”
    “What do you mean by that?” I passed her a small plate to put her cookie on. She took a bite and held the plate under her cookie to catch the crumbs.
    We were gathered in the den of my house. It was a small room off the front parlor of the old Victorian my family had lived in since the turn of the century. My mother had remodeled it in the late seventies. Her goal had been to restore the room to its turn-of-the-century glory. Instead it was an overly decorated red and black room with accents of hunter green. There was a chandelier dripping in beads and a floor lamp with red tassels. I think it was because the wing-backed chairs were so comfortable and there was one wall filled with books that it was the family’s favorite room to gather. It certainly wasn’t for the décor.
    “Well, one of the rumors that I could neither deny nor confirm was that it was gambling debt, not a bum knee, that ruined Homer’s football career.” Cookie crumbs toppled from Grandma’s lips, and she took a sip of coffee. “Couldn’t prove it, though . . . until . . .”
    Grandma stopped with a strategic pause until she was sure we were all waiting on her next words.
    “Until what?” Okay I bit. I mean, being a good journalist, Grandma Ruth wasn’t one to say something unless she had something, and even then she might not tell anyone until it was in the paper.
    “I was going through old copies of newspapers and such.” Grandma licked her index finger and dabbed the crumbs off her considerable chest. “Did you know that when Homer died, he left all his papers to the local historical society? I guess he thought some historian might want to write a research paper on him or something.”
    “Grandma . . .”
    “What? I was thinking of archiving my memoirs. You know my parents were founding members of Haysville College. You should write yours as well, Toni. You never know who will want to research the area, and you have a story to tell, being a businesswoman and all . . .”
    “Grandma Ruth!”
    “I think she wants to know what all we were working on for our Homer Everett exposé.” Phyllis sank into one of the overstuffed wing chairs.
    “No, really, I want to know what this has to do with Lois’s murder.”
    “She had secrets to spill. I knew she knew something, but someone got to her before she could spill them.” Grandma reached for another cookie.
    “Who knew about our investigation?” Phyllis asked. “It sounds as if whoever killed Lois knew about it and is framing you.”
    Grandma shrugged and grabbed another cookie. “Only people who knew are in this room.”
    “I didn’t know,” I muttered, and crossed my arms.
    “That’s because you would have spoiled our fun with insisting we go to the cops with stuff.”
    I was not surprised to see Bill and Phyllis nod in agreement. I turned to Brad. “Did you know about this?”
    He held his hands up near his chest. “I’m hearing about it for the first time, too.”
    “As her lawyer”—I raised my right eyebrow—“what would you have advised her to do should you have known?”
    “Not tell me,” Brad quipped.
    “What?”
    “As long as she wasn’t breaking any laws with her investigation, I don’t need to know.” He turned to Grandma and gave her a stern look. “If she were breaking laws, I would have advised her to stop.”
    “See—”
    Grandma pooh-poohed us both with a wave of her hand. “A good journalist isn’t afraid of breaking a few rules