The Dame Wore A Crucifix

So, the setup:

She told me a hard-luck story. Embroidered it up real nice, complete with the untimely death of her husband, his shady business partner coming onto her at the funeral, and her suspicions that maybe, just maybe, her hubby’s accident had been no accident at all. She was just a girl, all alone in the world.

This stuff is bread and butter to me. Murders. I solve ‘em. That’s how I got my reputation. So I was unprepared for her first question.

She looked up at me with eyes wider than a baby’s and said, “Mister, do you believe in Jesus?”

“Jesus? What the hell does Jesus have to do with your husband, ma’am?”

She wrung her gloves in her hand, distressed, but if anything, her eyes got even wider. “I set to prayin’ and the Lord Jesus told me you’d watch over me. Said it right in my ear.”

Daffy. The dame was completely daffy.

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