Chapters (62)
- Cover
- A PENNY
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
- About the Author
- Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
- About the Publisher
“Oh, Callie, there you are,” Marion said, pinning a small gold brooch on her black lapel. Despite the somber occasion, she looked lovely in black, and for a moment I could glimpse in her face the portrait of the young woman that hung in her husband’s office at work. “Would you like to ride in the car with us?”
“Thank you, Marion,” I said, “but I need to freshen up first. I passed the funeral home earlier, so I know where it is. I’ll come along as soon as I’ve showered and changed.”
“Alright, dear,” she said, distracted by the arrival of Judith, who was dressed smartly in what looked like a Versace suit and matching coat. Black, yes, but perhaps a bit too stylish for such a somber occasion. “It’s the Morrison Home, you know, just up the street.”
“I know.”
I watched as the family grouped up and left, Nick driving Marion, Judith, and Angelina in the Cadillac. Sidra and Carlos climbed into the Jaguar and waited as Derek showed me how to lock the door and engage the alarm when I left.
“I’ve heard that people look in the paper for wakes and funerals so they can rob the house while everyone’s gone,” he said. “That’s just what we’d need—somebody digging through all our stuff while we’re not here.”
If you only knew, I thought as I assured him that I would, indeed, set the alarm before leaving. Carlos gave me a wave as they drove off, and then I pulled the door shut and locked it, turning to face the Smythe home alone for the first time.
I would start with the rooms downstairs that I hadn’t yet seen—namely, Nick’s and Angelina’s. Though I found it hard to suspect either one of them, I dared not leave even one stone unturned—or, in this case, one insulin injector unexamined.
I headed for the kitchen, knowing that their rooms must be in the back wing. I found Nick’s room first, and I knew immediately that it was his because it held an entire bookcase filled with cookbooks. The furnishings were modest, with a queen-sized bed flanked by two bedside tables, a small sitting area by the window, and a great big dresser. Scanning the room, I could see that Nick was interested in golf—there was an unopened pack of tees on the dresser and several dirty pairs of golf shoes in the closet.