Death of an Irish Diva by Mollie Cox Bryan

ever happened,” he told her.
    One mystery solved, Annie thought. She may have had nothing to do with the NMO, other than she hired one of its leaders to do research. But then again, Luther could be lying about the whole rune thing.
    â€œYeah, now that I think about it, Emily said she knew Russian, Arabic, and Hebrew.” He emphasized Hebrew.
    Annie looked him straight in the eye. “Hebrew?”
    â€œYes, you know, she grew up in Israel,” he said and smirked.
    Annie smiled.
    â€œWhat?” Luther asked.
    â€œNothing,” she said with an even voice, belying her inner turmoil. “She didn’t grow up in Israel. I just spoke with her parents.”
    â€œWhat? Her hippie-dippy parents are here? She told me all about them.” He sat back and laughed. “Well, well, well . . . I’m just trying to imagine them walking down the streets of Cumberland Creek in commune clothing.”
    Annie grimaced. “There’s nothing funny about that, Luther.”
    She stood to go, began gathering her things.
    â€œWait. Why are you going?” he said.
    For a moment, Annie could see a different guy sitting there. Was it the way the light played off his skin? He looked younger, more innocent, even though she knew exactly that he was a neo-Nazi who soon enough would be out of jail, wreaking havoc.
    â€œI don’t want you to go,” he said. “C’mon.”
    â€œLet’s get one thing straight, Luther,” Annie said as she flung her bag over her shoulder. “I really don’t care what you want. I just came here to question you about Emily to help solve her murder for her family. So they can have a sense of peace, of closure.”
    She turned to go.
    â€œYou’re looking in the wrong places, Annie. Word on the street is that your friend Vera went a little crazy and offed her,” he said.
    She spun back about and glared at him. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Luther.”
    He looked her straight in the eye and frowned.
    Something about the look in his eye unsettled Annie. It went back to the first day she met him, when they were stranded along the road to Jenkins Mountain. Even though he was definitely clean now, he flustered her. She took a deep breath as she closed the door behind her. His trial was next week. He was pleading temporary insanity because of his drug-induced state and the fact that he was addicted at the time.
    Annie swallowed hard as she made her way out of the jail, certain Luther Vandergrift would be a free man way too soon.

Chapter 22
    After a particularly grueling session with her new therapist, Dr. Long, Vera stopped at Pamela’s Pie Palace to treat herself to a slice of chocolate pie. She always felt a twinge of guilt coming here, rather than going to DeeAnn’s Bakery. But sometimes only pie would do, and DeeAnn made and sold mostly bread, muffins, and pastries.
    She loved the atmosphere of the Pie Palace: black-and-white tile floors, red vinyl booth seats, and jukeboxes on the tables. The waitresses were all dressed in cute little black dresses with white ruffled aprons, darling little hats on their heads. She just loved the theatricality of it, but even better than that, the pie was divine. Even Beatrice, not easily impressed with anybody else’s pie, was entranced by the quality of the pie.
    Vera slurped her coffee while waiting on her chocolate coconut pie, then smiled at the waitress who brought it over to her. She would not look her in her eye. She must be shy, Vera thought.
    â€œThanks,” she said.
    The waitress nodded, gave a quick smile, and walked away.
    Vera took a bite of her pie and nearly swooned over the deep, rich chocolate set off by graham cracker crust, with a fine layer of coconut in between. A mile-high meringue topped it.
    With the next bite, an image of her therapist invaded her thoughts. He was kind of boring and vanilla, she decided. And he wasn’t helping her at all.