Page 2 of Little Merry Murder

“Why don’t you give us a few minutes?”

“You bet,” Simone said.

They stood, and Hunter followed Simone out, closing the door behind her.

The woman took a seat, and I said, “What can I do for you?”

“I need …” She lifted a finger and began digging around in her purse. “Just a moment, okay? I’m sorry.”

Taking a guess, I grabbed a box of tissues and pushed it in her direction. “No need to apologize. Take all the time you need.”

For the next couple of minutes, she sniffled and snorted into a half a dozen tissues, and I waited. Every time she began to speak, she’d get a few words out, but she hadn’t managed an entire sentence yet. Whatever was on her mind, it carried a heavy weight.

The woman removed a few more tissues from the box and placed them in her lap. “Believe it or not, I don’t consider myself an emotional person. I don’t get like this often.”

“I’m the same way. It takes a lot for me to get worked up about something, but when I do, everything I’ve been suppressing spills right out.”

She nodded and pressed a hand to her chest, closing her eyes as she worked to steady her breath. When her eyes reopened, she seemed a lot calmer.

“My name is Delilah Cooperson,” she said. “I’m not sure if you’ve been paying attention to the news, but my daughter-in-law was Claire Cooperson.”

“I have some connections at the county police department. What happened to Claire was awful.”

“I’m guessing you may have heard my son has been arrested.”

“I have, and I’m sorry.”

“The thing is, he didn’t do it, you see. Not my Owen. He’s too gentle a soul to even consider such a thing. And now that they’vearrested him, they won’t listen to a word he says, or a wordIsay, for that matter.”

“I take it you’ve spoken to the police?”

“More than once. I’ve talked to anyone willing to listen. I’m getting nowhere. I didn’t know who to go to or what to do, and then I met the kindest woman at the grocery store. She told me about you and your detective agency, and I thought … well, it’s worth a shot. I’ll do anything to save my son from these false allegations.”

Any mother would.

It didn’t mean he was innocent.

The case intrigued me, but as far as Owen’s guilt or innocence, I didn’t know enough aboutwhyhe’d been accused to weigh in.

“What has your son told you about the night of the murder?” I asked.

Delilah leaned back, crossing her arms. “He told me he didn’t do it, and that’s enough for me.”

It may have been enough for her, but not for me.

“Do you know any specifics about what happened the night of the murder?” I asked.

“Owen’s told me a few things.”

For a woman desperate to save her son, she was a little light on the details, offering me blanket statements that led nowhere.

I crossed my arms and tried again.

“Where was Owen during the time the murder took place?” I asked.

“He was running late from work. He said he tried to call Claire, but she didn’t answer. It was a windy night, from what I understand, and the cell service was shoddy, going in and out. Even so, the police confirmed a call was made about thirty minutes before he arrived home.”

“How far away is Owen’s work?”

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