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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

And then I understood. Like gears shifting into place, I realized now that almost the entire family had known the true circumstances of Wendell’s death—or at least had suspected as much. That explained why they didn’t talk about the murder, why they all acted as if he had died of natural causes. Their mother had killed their father to save him from the misery of committing suicide. Somehow, in her mind and maybe theirs, too, the crime was justified.

“You made a big mistake, Marion,” I said, shaking my head. She looked up at me through tear-filled eyes.

“Perhaps,” she whispered. “But I’m still alive. I still have time to atone for my sin.”

“We have to call the police,” I said, reaching for the phone. She placed one trembling, manicured hand over the receiver and looked up at me pleadingly as if willing me to understand.

“Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter what happens now,” she said. “I don’t care what they do to me. My punishment is living the rest of my life with the memory of what I did.”

“Marion—”

“I loved Wendell so much, Callie,” she said, lifting the receiver and handing it to me. “I loved him enough to kill him.”

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Three

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In the morning, I went to see Judith.

The jail wasn’t nearly as big or intimidating as I had expected. Judith was fortunate that the police were holding her in a county facility rather than the Philadelphia city jail. She was facing charges of theft and fraud, and though I didn’t know what would happen to her eventually, I knew she was in serious trouble. The IRS, for one, was none too happy about her using nonprofit money to fund a for-profit enterprise. I thought she might end up doing some difficult time—or at least end up with community service and some hefty fines—particularly as Alan was now trying to push as much blame as possible from his shoulders to hers. We reap what we sow, I supposed.

There were a few chairs lining the walls of the reception area of the jail, and beyond them a window with inch-thick glass and a uniformed police officer sitting behind it. Speaking into a wire mesh rectangle, I told him I was an attorney here to see Judith Smythe. He dutifully wrote down her name before pointing to a door where I was to go in and wait.

It was a small room with four chairs around a table and no windows except in the door. I sat, trying to breathe through my mouth, ignoring the strong smell of cleaning ammonia that permeated the room. The table was scratched and scarred but shining, and I set my briefcase on top of it, thinking about all that I had managed to accomplish in the last 12 hours.