It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To The Last Death #1) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,50

made…

“Waauufff maauuury,” he said, narrowing his lifeless eyes in the hollowed-out sockets.

“Shut the front door,” I said, squinting in disbelief. “Your wife got married. Already? What the heck is that crap?”

I glanced at the obituary again to see if it said former wife. Nope. Wife. John was dead which probably meant he wasn’t quite right in the head—not that I was either, but I needed to remember that I was dealing with the deceased.

“Sooooooonha.”

I understood that one. It was tasteless but made a little more sense. I couldn’t even think about dating and it had been a year since Steve had died. Stan of the Hairy Back didn’t count. I couldn’t imagine someone getting married right after a spouse died—even if it was a terrible marriage. That looked seriously bad. We lived in a small town in the South, for the love of everything gossipy. This Sarina was an idiot.

“Got it,” I told John. “I’m sorry about that.”

John looked down and began to rock back and forth, a keening sound coming from his mouth. It made me want to cry. His hand made jerky motions across his neck over and over. I stared mesmerized. It was like watching a train wreck. What was he doing?

The movement accelerated in speed. I couldn’t look away. I felt trapped.

At one point, John’s hand became a huge kitchen knife. It was brief, but all too sickeningly real. Yesterday I would have blown the image off as my unstable imagination. Today? No way.

“You were murdered,” I said, not even believing it myself.

John stopped moving and slowly raised his eyes to mine. “Yausssss, waauufff kaulll

“Your wife killed you?” I shouted. “Are you kidding me? And now she’s getting married?”

“Yausssss.”

What the hell was I supposed to do with this information? I was enraged for poor John, but it wasn’t like I could go down to the police station and tell the cops I’d chatted with a dead man whose wife killed him and got away with it. That wouldn’t really end all that well. I was sure of it. I needed facts and proof.

Shit. I was going to have to hug him.

“Was it for insurance money?” I asked, feeling a sick tightness in my chest.

He nodded.

“Well, then she’s going to be waiting a long time,” I hissed growing more furious with this woman. “Insurance companies don’t pay out for suicide, and I know you didn’t kill yourself,” I assured him. “However, your wife is stupid. She didn’t do her research.”

“Stooooopaud,” John grunted and then laughed.

At least I thought it was a laugh. He had an amazingly intact sense of humor considering he was murdered by his wife a week ago.

“Your wife dropped your dog at the pound,” I said, shaking my head. Sarina Dunn was a nasty piece of work.

“Yausssss.”

I sat for a moment and thought. I could definitely adopt his dog. As far as getting his wife put away for murdering him? That was a long shot.

“John, I’ll adopt your dog today,” I promised. “I’ll love the dog and take care of it always. You don’t have to worry about that. Okay?”

He nodded and smiled. “Thaauanuak yooouah.”

“Welcome. Now the bad news. Not real sure what I can do about your murderous wife,” I admitted. “You’re pretty dead, and I have no solid evidence or proof.”

John began to speak gibberish like a speed demon. I had to slap my hands over my ears, it was so loud and angry.

“Hold up, dude,” I shouted. “Stop.”

Thankfully he listened. He also looked contrite. I truly appreciated good manners.

“This is probably not smart,” I told him. “However, I’m going to hug you. I’ll be able to see inside your mind. I do not want to hang out in there too long. I should be able to understand your voice if you talk to me—at least that’s how it worked with Sam.”

John nodded and held out his arms to me.

“Hang on a sec,” I said, putting my hands up. “First show me your dog and tell me the dog’s name. Then tell me… or show me… any proof you have that your piece-of-shit wife killed you. If it’s something I can get and show to the authorities, then I will.”

That might still be hard depending on what he had to show me. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. I’d already told him I wasn’t sure I could do anything about his murder.

The dog? No problem.

“Okay, John. I’m going to hug you now. Donna, stay close. I won’t be long