Streak of Lightning by Clare O'Donohue Page B

chair back.”
    â€œWhich was where?” Jesse asked.
    â€œThere.” She pointed toward the damaged floor plants and the broken pots.
    Joe had come in and gotten his chair, the last thing he’d done before Greg locked him up, alone, in that jail cell.
    We all stood and stared. I played the scene over and over in my mind. Nothing made sense, and then suddenly I knew who had killed Joe. And I could hardly believe it.

Chapter 15
    â€œJoe walked in to get his chair while Violet went to get the police,” I said.
    â€œI think we’ve established that, Miss Fitzgerald,” Terri Adkin said, the amusement now turning into impatience. Small town amateur detectives are an acquired taste, I guess.
    â€œBut that’s my point,” I said. “We’ve all known that from the beginning. And we all knew, at least Greg and Jesse and myself, that Joe was drunk when he came into the police station.”
    â€œHe didn’t drink,” Lori pointed out.
    â€œI know. You told me that yesterday. But he was drunk when he walked into that police station. Or at least we thought he was.” I walked among the debris of pots. “He threw the chair through the window, and it landed on this plant. Then he came over to this spot to grab his chair. . . .” I mimicked the movement, bending over and straightening up again slowly.
    â€œOh, my God,” Lori gasped. “And he hit his head on the shelf.”
    â€œAnd those big ceramic pots tumbled down on him,” Jesse finished the thought. “When Violet and Greg came back, they assumed the chair had done the damage. And if Joe was hit hard enough, it could have caused bleeding in the brain.”
    â€œWhich might take hours to kill him,” Detective Adkin added. “But he would have been a little woozy, maybe seemed drunk.”
    â€œAnd he was too stubborn to admit that he was hurt,” Lori said, starting to cry.
    â€œWith the bruise on his chest, and his bad temper, someone killing him seemed more likely than a simple accident.” Detective Adkin spoke the words, but she seemed surprised at the explanation. “So there was no killer.”
    â€œNo, there was,” Lori told her. “It was what I warned him about all along. Joe’s anger killed him.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Jesse and Detective Adkin went back to the station, and the rest of us left the flower shop for Jitters and hot tea. Carrie, Violet, and my grandmother offered Lori their support and advice on running a business alone. Rich volunteered to help with the cleanup as Lori expanded Everything Pizza into Violet’s storefront, and even Greg promised his skills as a handyman, learned at his dad’s side, if Lori ever needed some help.
    Lori cried and smiled and shook her head in disbelief. “I wish Joe had known what good neighbors he had,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
    â€œJust take care of yourself,” Eleanor told her. “That’s all you have to do. A good night’s sleep is what you need.” And finally, she was likely to get it.
    I wasn’t glad Joe was dead—you can never be glad that someone is dead—but I was relieved that no one had killed him, that Greg was back at work, and that I could get a slice of pizza without being yelled at.
    After a while, I returned to Someday and went back to work on my streak of lightning quit. I finished sewing the last block just as Jesse came into the shop.
    â€œYour report is all done?” I asked.
    â€œMy report, the state police report . . . everything. I know WOMBATs, and WIFs and UFOs, but what is the acronym when you finish a quilt? Because, whatever it is, that’s what the reports are.”
    I thought about it for a moment. “We don’t really have one for finishing a quilt. We just move on to the next one,” I told him.
    â€œWell, I’m in no hurry to move