Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8) by Vanessa Gray Bartal

imagine she would. I wouldn’t, if my ex-husband had just died,” Celia said.
    Lacy’s ears pricked. Their town was small; how many men could have recently died?
    “And the way he went. So horrible,” Amelia said.
    “I know. I haven’t been able to put it out of my mind since Dan told me about it,” Marcia said.
    “What happened?” Lacy asked.
    “Bob Hoskins, the mechanic, was crushed by a car lift at his repair shop,” Marcia supplied.
    “Did you know him?” Lacy asked.
    “Sort of. Dan used him for repairs whenever he needed body work done at the dealership,” Marcia said.
    “Body work is the only reason to use a mechanic,” Celia interjected. “Everything else can be done at home, if you take the time to learn.”
    “His ex-wife, Deborah, is part of our group,” Amelia added. “Has anyone talked to her?”
    “I tried, but she didn’t return my call,” Marcia said. “I feel so bad for her.”
    Ding, ding, ding, Lacy thought. There’s my in. I need to track down the ex and ask her some questions.
    “Celia, how’s your mother?” Amelia asked.
    “The same,” Celia replied.
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” Marcia said, and the women chuckled.
    “Is your mother ill?” Lacy asked.
    “No, she’s difficult,” Celia answered. Lacy and Riley exchanged glances.
    “There’s a lot of that going around lately,” Riley said.
    “Believe me when I tell you that your mother has nothing on mine,” Celia said.
    “I’m fifteen months pregnant with our first child, and my mother’s so bad that my husband fled for self-preservation,” Riley said.
    “My mother’s so bad I could never get a husband,” Celia said.
    “My mother once wrote a note to my middle school counselor and told him to tell me to lose weight,” Lacy said.
    “My mother shaved my head because our neighbors had lice,” Celia said.
    “My mother asked a mentally handicapped boy to be my prom date because she was worried no one else would ask me,” Lacy said.
    “No one else did ask you,” Riley said.
    “Her lack of faith was still hurtful,” Lacy said.
    “Did you go with him?” Amelia asked.
    “No, but I went to his house and played board games instead. It ended up being one of the better nights of my high school existence,” Lacy said.
    “That’s nothing. My mother,” Celia began, but their one-upmanship was interrupted by the arrival of another woman.
    “Hi,” the woman said, and promptly burst into tears.
    “Oh, Deb,” Amelia said. She dropped her knitting and gave Deb a hug. Marcia did the same. Celia continued knitting, as did Riley. Lacy stared. Deb was a slightly plump middle-aged woman. Her hair was trying to go gray; she was fighting a valiant effort with at-home dye to keep it dark brown. Her nails were perfectly manicured and, like Marcia, she tended toward too much makeup.
    “It’s ridiculous. I spent so many years hating him for what he did to me, but now that he’s gone, I miss him.”
    Someone passed her a tissue. She pressed it over her eyes and cried harder. It was obvious that no one knew what to say to her. The awkwardness in the room was palpable. Eventually even she felt it. She removed the tissue from her eyes and used it to dab them.
    “I shouldn’t have come tonight,” she said.
    “No, don’t say that. We’re glad you’re here,” Marcia said. To Lacy, the platitude lacked conviction.
    “I thought if I went out it might distract me from thinking about it, but I just keep seeing him like that.” The tears started again. Over her head, Marcia and Deb exchanged glances. Celia began to knit faster. Riley remained obliviously focused on her work.
    What did she mean when she said she kept seeing him like that? Lacy wondered. Did she mean she imagined how he must have looked, or had the police called her for some kind of body identification?
    “This was a mistake. I should go,” Deb said. She stuffed her knitting back into her bag.
    “No, Deb, don’t go,” Amelia said, but Deb was