Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle by Pauline Jones (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

With movements both slow and cautious, she angled off the seat, sliding one leg from under the wheel and lowering it to the pavement. The slow drag gradually unveiled more and more leg as her skirt stayed put—until ground zero was reached, when it dropped like a curtain.

Both men exhaled. Mickey tugged at his tie and said, “Hurry up. I’m hungry.”

She saluted without speaking and headed through the driveway gate. Mickey watched until she was out of sight.

He angrily rubbed his hot face. “She does it on purpose, Delaney!”

“Yes, and she does it very well.” His voice was thick with laughter and lust. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I have no idea.” Mickey paced away from him, then back again.

“Well, you’d better decide before you do kill her. It’s a real bitch getting strip-searched.”

Fern was afraid to look at Donald. He’d been ominously quiet since they hit the tree. They’d managed to leave the area without attracting attention, but it had been a close call. She’d patched up the cut on his forehead but could do nothing for the bulging veins at his temples except exchange the damaged car for a sporty little Ford. He hadn’t even said anything when the goons brought the girl back and she’d climbed behind the wheel of the Nash. He’d choked when the cops came out and whimpered when the Nash wouldn’t start, then subsided back into a silent simmer when they all left again instead of getting blown up.

A bead of sweat formed on her forehead, then ran down between her eyes, hovering on the end of her nose for a long moment before dropping into her lap. Even under the shade of an oak it was hot with the motor off. It was time to do something. She cleared her throat and looked at Donald, but whatever she was going to say died in her throat at the look in his eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t quite time yet.

Mickey was waiting for Luci when she started back downstairs, her nose presumably powdered. Delaney had spotted Gracie and abandoned Mickey to Luci’s caprice. Halfway down, Luci stopped, her brows rising in a question.

“Delaney made other arrangements for lunch. So he won’t be here to protect you if you annoy me again,” he informed her. He’d used the time she was gone to lecture himself into a more rational frame of mind. It was ridiculous to let her keep pulling his chain. He was a trained officer of the law. A highly trained officer of the law. So she was annoying—and unexpected. He could handle both of those things. All he had to do was keep his cool. Think before he spoke—and after she spoke. Count to ten if he must. Or a million. Whatever it took.

Luci nodded, but a wary light crept into her green eyes as she let him steer her outside to the car.

Good, Mickey thought as he held her door, then slid behind the wheel.

“Delaney got a better offer for lunch, did he? Should I be insulted?”

“Only if you prefer older men,” Mickey said, expertly swinging the car onto St. Charles, “and if you’re inclined to be jealous of your Aunt Gracie.”

“She’s not my aunt,” Luci said, her voice oddly neutral. “She’s sort of a cousin. Delaney’s not interested in Gracie in a romantic way is he? He’s just questioning her again about the murders?”

“Why shouldn’t he be interested in her? She’s a very charming lady. A very normal lady.”

After a brief pause, she said, “Only in comparison with the rest of us.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. Here it comes. Another one of her outrageous conversational roller coaster rides. He mentally braced himself. “What? You might as well tell me. What’s wrong with Gracie?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Gracie—except for being dead. And she’s kind of cold to be around when the temperature drops, but that doesn’t happen often here, thank goodness.”

It was fortunate he had to stop at a traffic light. Because she’d done it again. He gripped the steering wheel. Hard. Counted to ten. And kept going. At one hundred and ten he managed to choke out, “Dead?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “I really thought you’d notice—what with all your experience with dead people.”

“You—” He choked a couple of times, then snapped out, “The dead people I deal with don’t walk and talk!”

“You noticed right away she wasn’t like any living Seymour.”

“I said she was normal!”

“I suspect that dead is as normal as we can get.”

He choked some more, then settled for glaring at her until honking interrupted him. The car jerked forward as he mentally fought back. “No way. Not this time—”

“You can check if you don’t believe me. She’s buried at St. Mary’s not far from the house. The aunts put flowers on her grave the last Sunday of every month.”

Mickey had the strangest urge to laugh. It was funny, in an insane sort of way.

“She’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t look—dead.”

“She likes to keep herself up.”

This prompted another round of counting before he could say almost calmly, “Really?”

“Yes, really. She’s dead. Not married.”

A tense silence filled the car for a couple of blocks. When he turned the car into the parking lot of a Shoney’s restaurant, he finally looked at her.

“All right. She’s dead. How did she die?”

“She was killed by an irate suitor.”

It was the first thing she’d ever said he could understand.

Fern pulled in across the street from Shoney’s and watched Luci Seymour and the cop go inside. Only then did she look at Donald for direction. He was looking better now that they had something to do. His color was almost normal again, though she wasn’t sure his eyes would ever stop bulging out of the sockets.

“What should we do now?” she asked.

“Wait,” Donald said, like he was praying. Under cover, his hand stroked the Uzi like it was his best friend. “They can’t stay in there forever.”

Inside Shoney’s, Mickey told Luci what to order for him, then retreated to regain