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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

“How can I be sure?” he asked, his breathing heavy, his grip strong. He was rocking us back and forth, still crying. “You should have left it alone.”

I didn’t know what to do. I felt a wave of dizziness come over me and knew it was the lack of oxygen. I had to breathe. I couldn’t breathe.

“Nick, stop!”

The voice of Marion Smythe rang out across the water. She stood at the edge of the pool, watching in horror as Nick’s arm pressed more tightly against my throat.

He was startled enough by her appearance that he loosened his grip. I chose that moment to wrench myself away, sprinting from the pool. Feeling him lunge after me, I grabbed for the only thing I could reach—a wrought iron footstool beside the pool—which I lifted and swung around in an arc, catching him sharply on the side of his head.

He went down in a heap, blood spurting from the gash on his head. He was out cold, and for a moment, I was afraid I had killed him.

“No!” Marion yelled, seemingly frozen in place. I knelt down and felt for his pulse, which was strong and regular.

“The towel!” I said. “Hand me that towel!”

After a moment’s hesitation, Marion did as I said. She tossed it to me, and I wadded it up and pressed it against the cut on his head. I held it there firmly, trying to catch my breath, watching Nick for signs of consciousness.

“Call the police,” I barked to Marion, but she remained frozen where she was.

“You have to call,” I said, looking at her. “Now, Marion. Nick’s the murderer. He killed your husband.”

She shook her head, whispering softly to herself.

“No,” she said.

“Call them, Marion,” I said. “Then bring me some rope. We’ll tie him up while he’s still unconscious.”

“No.”

“Marion!” I yelled. She seemed to snap back to attention, looking at me, pain in her eyes. “You have to call the police! But get me some rope first.”

“Callie,” Marion said softly, shaking her head. “Nick didn’t kill my husband.”

“Yes, he did. And just now he nearly killed me.”

“He was only protecting me. He didn’t kill Wendell.”

“How do you know that?” I demanded.

“Because I did it,” Marion said. “I killed my husband.”

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Two

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I sat in the drawing room with the door tightly closed as Angelina tended to Nick on the couch. He had regained consciousness, and the cut on his head had finally stopped bleeding. I knew he would need to see a doctor soon to get stitches and check for a concussion. For now, he was subdued, his eyes closed, his sister weeping softly as she cleaned the blood from his face and beard.