Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) by Christy Barritt Page B

Willis?”
    Still no one appeared. Perhaps he’d stepped out for a bit. But why would he leave his bank unlocked? People in Boring weren’t that trusting. And Mr. Willis wasn’t that stupid.
    I followed the sound of the TV until I reached a room marked “Employees Only.” I knocked. I could hear the TV on the other side. Taking a deep breath, I cracked the door open. “Mr. Willis?”
    The TV sat on a table against the far wall. The back of a couch faced me. No one in here.
    As I was about to close the door, I froze and closed my eyes.
    That wasn’t what I thought.
    It wasn’t.
    Couldn’t be.
    I forced my eyes open and stepped forward, squinting.
    Yes, that did appear to be a leather shoe resting on the arm of the couch. The position of the shoe made it clear that the footwear was attached to a leg.
    Lord, be with me. I paused and looked at the ceiling. Then at whomever that foot belonged to.
    I took another step and peered over the back of the couch. That’s when I saw Mr. Willis—lying on the couch like a corpse.

Chapter 8

    I screamed.
    All of a sudden, Mr. Willis rose from the dead.
    He darted from the couch, looking as if I’d scared him to death—or scared him to life, however you wanted to look at it.
    “What are you doing?” he shouted, clutching his chest. “What’s going on? How’d you get in here?”
    “You’re alive!”
    “Of course I’m alive, girl. I’m old, not dead.”
    Babe burst through the door. Her eyes were wide and her pink lipstick freshly applied. “What happened? Are you okay? What did I miss?”
    I pressed a hand over my heart, which pounded erratically in my ears. Finally, I laughed a shaky laugh and pointed at Mr. Willis. “I thought you were dead.”
    I could see the headlines now: Attack of the Killer Couches.
    “Dead? Not yet. Keep sneaking up on me like that and I might be soon.” Mr. Willis grabbed a fedora from the hat rack and slipped it over his balding head. His gaze flickered behind me to Babe. “And how are you doing today, Ms. Pritchard?”
    She stuck her nose in the air. “Just fine, no thanks to you.”
    “To me? What did I do? I was just back here taking a nap. It was the two of you who barged in!” His gaze swung back and forth between us.
    Babe harrumphed. “I came in only because I heard my friend scream. I had no intention of entering your establishment.”
    He stepped closer. “Afraid you might find something you like?”
    Babe crossed her arms and leaned forward, an unusual firmness in her inflection. “Not a chance.”
    The tension in the room was tight enough to make me snap. “I’m glad you’re okay, Mr. Willis. I was only concerned for your well-being. Babe, I’ll come back another time—when you’re not with me. I can see this was a bad idea.”
    The two still faced off. I watched them to see who would blink first. Instead, they stared, Babe with fire in her eyes and Mr. Willis with a twinkle.
    “There are plenty of other banks around,” Babe said.
    “But this one is the best.”
    “Says who?”
    “Says me.” Mr. Willis looked rather smug.
    I grabbed Babe’s arm before war broke out. “Come on, let’s go.” I pulled her away. “I’m glad you’re okay, Mr. Willis! You should really make sure those front doors are locked when you’re closed.”
    “Sorry about that scare, and I will talk to the manager about those doors being left unlocked. It’s unacceptable. Plain unacceptable!”
    As soon as we were out of earshot, I whispered, “What was that about?”
    “He rubs me the wrong way.”
    I looked at Babe. “Because he thinks he’s a ‘cool cat’?”
    She shrugged like an adolescent. “Maybe.”
    “That’s ridiculous.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    There was obviously something going on here that I wasn’t picking up on. I’d find out more of the story later. Right now, I needed to get Babe home. We had a big night coming up: our first shift as official Neighborhood Watch volunteers.

    “It’s very important