Killer Cousins by June Shaw

aren’t.”
    Maybe that is what happened to my cousin, why she acts so differently from the Stevie I’ve known.
    Fawn aimed the straw at her. “We might have to reconsider our actions and realize weird ones might come from missing that killer from our midst.”
    I blinked extra hard. “What killer?”
    “Nicotine. And tars and carbon monoxide and other poisons.”
    I’d hoped she would name a person, and our quest to locate a murderer would be over.
    Stevie narrowed her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she agreed or was getting ready to punch Fawn. Or me? Both? Fawn had said they might do strange things.
    Come on, detectives and medical examiner , my mind screamed while I forced a tight-lipped smile at Stevie. Y’all find out why that man died. Then let me move on. I didn’t create these women’s demons. Why am I stuck in the midst of their battle with them?
    Fawn drained her mug. “You probably walked out of our meeting because your system is changing. Actually, your body’s healing. You’re getting healthier, Stevie. So am I.” She sucked that damned straw. Loudly exhaled. Smiled at my hostess, whose shoulders flattened and grew broader. I envisioned a bull, ready to charge.
    Stevie spread her hands on the table. Pressing them down, she shoved herself up. Stared at Fawn. “I’ll think about what you said.”
    So would I. Regarding both uptight women, I thought if cigarettes could cause those emotional problems, besides all the obvious health concerns everyone spoke about, the places that made the horrible things should be shut down immediately.
    “I need to go,” Fawn said, Stevie’s demeanor obviously giving her that message. “I hope we’ll see you tomorrow night. You, too, Cealie.”
    My grin was noncommittal. Didn’t want her to know I was thinking I hoped to be on a jet by then, looking forward to people bartering with me on a moonlit beach in Acapulco.
    Stevie saw Fawn out the front door. Stevie’s footsteps came toward the kitchen. She didn’t come into the room.
    I washed our dishes. Stevie still hadn’t returned. I dried our things and put everything away. I rolled my eyes at Minnie the cactus. “Strange goings-on, right? But don’t worry. We’ll leave soon.” The main reason I’d thought of traveling to Mexico now was to look for other types of cacti that grew there.
    I placed Minnie’s pot farther away from the sink to protect her from accidental dumps of water. Then walked down the hall.
    “Stevie?” I glanced through open doors. Didn’t see or hear her. The door to the mystic room was shut. I stood outside it. “Stevie?”
    Everything stayed quiet.
    I smelled burning candles. Heard murmuring inside the room. I placed my ear against the door.
    Breathing? Maybe mine. No other sounds besides quiet.
    She was probably in that room. I was tempted to knock or try the knob, but she’d said she was going to meditate. Having a person knocking on your door while you meditated probably wouldn’t help. And with her avoiding cigarettes, she needed all the help she could get.
    But what if it was a cigarette I smelled? Suppose she went in that room to light up?
    Well, that was her business, not mine. I had my own life to lead and problems to solve. She had hers. She was probably doing that the best way she could.
    Entering the room I slept in, I phoned a couple of friends and family members. I spoke to my son, Tommy, in Alaska, hung up, then considered what I should do. Stevie still hadn’t come out of her room.
    My scan through my bedroom let me glance in the dresser’s mirror. Then I knew. My large eyes looked brown and clear, my slim nose with no shine. But my hair. Still burnt sienna—except for the two inches of gray at the roots. Maybe my hair could use a touch-up. Besides, hairdressers talked a lot and knew things about many people. Maybe I’d be lucky and find someone who might help my hair and also my cause to find out why a man died.
    Getting the phone book, I called a few