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

“Really?” Luci looked delighted, then bent to write “Reggie” and “Frosty” at the top of her question mark.

“Is that all of your thinking?” Mickey asked in his most dampening tone.

“By no means. There’s the weddings.” She frowned.

“Weddings?” Mickey wasn’t ready and his stomach did a drop.

“They seem to be a sort of theme that runs through this whole thing. That and naked bodies. Which sort of goes with weddings, too. At least the honeymoon part of weddings.”

“Other than Eddie and Unabelle—” Mickey began.

“And my neighbor, Helen. And while he was driving me back, that Dante person mentioned his aunt, the one he wants to bring to the party? Well, she got married not long ago, too. It ended badly, which is why he wants to bring her, but, still, it’s a wedding. And Velma. She wanted to marry Reggie.” Her look was loaded with see?

Mickey patted his pockets, looking for his aspirin bottle as the headache made an abrupt return. “I don’t see—”

She frowned, her expression turning thoughtful as she added Velma’s name to the others on her question mark.

“What?”

“Velma.” Luci traced her name with the pen. “There’s something just not right with her.”

There was, in Mickey’s opinion, more than a mere “something” not right with Velma. There was a host of “somethings” not right with this whole case. He’d be lucky to get through it without something going wrong with him.

“Gracie noticed it, too,” Luci said, as if this were the clincher.

Mickey flinched. He had to. He didn’t want to believe her when she said Gracie was dead, but it was something easy to prove or disprove, unlike, say, her theories on the relationship between marriage and murder. If Gracie was dead, Delaney was in serious trouble. Mickey hadn’t seen him this smitten since...well, fact was he’d never seen him this smitten.

Pain did a tap dance on his temples, apparently immune to the aspirin he’d ingested. He had to get back, warn him—something. He dug out his wallet, found some cash for the tip and tossed it onto the table. It wasn’t until he stood up that he realized Luci was studying him, her gaze unreadable.

“He’ll get over it,” she said, then stood up, bringing her face almost even with his. The compassion in her eyes was mixed with something that could have been regret.

“What?”

“Gracie. Seymour women. Men fall for us, but they get over it. Or they kill us.” Without being asked, she started for the exit.

“Do you read minds?”

“Just faces. Yours isn’t exactly poker.”

“Oh.” He followed her, frustration giving him some protection against the sight of her graceful, sexy body and glorious legs. Some, but not nearly enough. Not when her scent trailed after her, filling his nose and fogging his brain. Regret for Delaney and for himself cut through the fog, leaving too many questions to rise to the surface of his mind. He tried to call it back, but one escaped from his mouth. “Why don’t the Seymour women marry?”

His question took her by surprise. Where had that come from? She opened her mouth, stopped, then said with utter truth, “You know, I have no idea.”

14

“Max,” Dante said as he rocked back in his desk chair, hands clasped behind his head. “It’s a pity you weren’t here to meet Benny’s Jane. I’d have been interested in your opinion of the lady.” He waited for Max to look appropriately regretful, then asked, “You get everything taken care of?”

“Yes, Mr. Dante. Henry won’t trouble you again.”

“Good.” Dante frowned. “Miss Luci said I could bring Cloris to some party on Sunday. Think you’d better go with me, too. Keep your eyes open, let me know what you think. Oh, and Max?”

“Yes, Mr. Dante?”

“Find out all you can about the Seymours. She says the scam is her aunts’. They’re the ones with the body in the freezer.”

“Right.” Max made a note.

“Miss Luci tells me they’ve had another one turn up under some bushes. If they did do these guys—” Dante looked thoughtful. “Why don’t you put someone on to watch the place? Like to have a feel for the setup before we go in.”

Fern and Donald picked up lunch at a walk-in joint across from where their quarry lunched. The food calmed Donald but left his determination to blow Luci Seymour away undiminished. As he stuffed food into his mouth, his brooding gaze never left the entrance to the restaurant. The busy street with its complicated restrictions on turning wasn’t suitable to their purpose, but after lunch, they followed them to a narrow quiet street and watched as they parked in front of an auto parts store.

“All right. This is good, real good. Drive by slow so I can check it out, then turn round. When I give the word, hit it. Then get out of here.”

Fern nodded, concentrating on getting the car into optimum position for the kill—and an easy escape. She was aware of the pain from her broken arm, but hovering just past the dingy rutted street was the vision of the Disney castle in all its glittering glory—

The cop took the girl’s arm as they crossed the street.

“Now?”

“No, let’em get inside. Last time the cop saw us coming. This time he won’t see us ’til too late. I’ll frame them in that nice big window and cut ’em in half.”

There was a brief glare as the light hit the open door, then it swished closed, shutting the pair inside.

Donald nodded, his voice casual as he said, “Let’s do it. Real slow and real casual-like.”

The Uzi was cradled in his lap. Light, easily handled, ready to become deadly with the flick of a switch.

Fern idled the car into position, just for a second using her broken arm to hold the car steady while she brushed the sweat from her eyes.

“Damn.” Donald rested the Uzi on the window frame as he peered at the shop.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lights glaring on the glass—but I think—yes, got her!” He lifted