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Back A Penny for Your Thoughts Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. A PENNY
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Forty-Nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-One
  56. Fifty-Two
  57. Fifty-Three
  58. Fifty-Four
  59. A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
  60. About the Author
  61. Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
  62. About the Publisher

Now, remembering the moment that I buried my husband, I felt a purely physical ache, a visceral sort of rage and sorrow well up in me like a volcano. By the time the song was over, I knew that my face was covered in tears, that it was all I could do not to let out a strangled sob. I was glad I was in the back row, hidden from those few there who knew me. I had hardly known Wendell Smythe; to be weeping at his funeral might’ve seemed odd.

Blessedly, the ceremony ended soon after the song. The pastor said one final prayer, the family placed single roses on the top of the closed casket, and then they quietly made their way to their waiting limousines, the whole lot of them huddling together like mice in a rainstorm. I stayed where I was for a long time, walking to my car only after I realized that the crowd around me had begun to disperse. I think I might’ve stayed there all day, looking at the gravesite in front of me, reliving my own husband’s funeral, if I hadn’t been afraid to be there in the cemetery alone and unprotected.

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When I got back to the house I avoided the gathering of people in the living room and instead made my way through the foyer to Wendell’s study, closing the door behind me. I sat in his chair and wondered how on earth one person could so cruelly take the life of another. My Bryan had died in a horrible accident caused by a careless person; Wendell Smythe had had his life snatched from him by a deliberate action. But were their deaths really that dissimilar? Both were good men, men who loved their work and their wives, men who still had a lot left to give to those around them. The fact that Wendell was so much older at his death than Bryan had been at his still didn’t alter the tragedy of either of them. I wanted to find this killer not just for Tom’s sake, I realized now, but also for Marion’s. Anything less would be unfaithful to the memories of the men we loved.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I heard cars in the front drive, doors opening and closing, people talking in the front hall. Finally, as the noises died off, the door to the study eased open, and Marion peeked inside.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, an odd expression on her face. “I saw the light on under the door and wondered. For a minute, I pretended it was going to be Wendell. But I knew better.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I was just sitting here thinking.”

She stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

She nodded.