Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

accessories, and alterations at Millicent's. Helen would have to work more than four eyars to make that much at her dead-end job.

Kiki left in a tornado of promises and air kisses, invigor- ated by the afternoon battle. Desiree trailed listlessly be- hind her. Rod, the delectably sweaty chauffeur, opened Kiki's door. She slid inside decorously.

When the Rolls pulled away from the curb, Helen and Millicent collapsed into the pink chairs. They were soft, but not too yielding. A tired woman could get out of them with dignity. No woman every sat on the gray ``husband couch.'' She knew her eyes would glaze with boredom if she went there. Excerpt from Just Murdered 169

Helen sighed and kicked off her shoes. Millicent fanned herself with a bridal consultant's brochure.

``The things I do for money,'' Millicent groaned.

``Rod the chauffeur is doing something strange for the big bucks,'' Helen said. ``You won't believe this, Millicent. He was afraid to take a bottle of water from me. I mean, really scared. He said, `Don't let her see you. You could ruin everything.' He acted like I was handing him a bomb. Why is he so afraid?''

``Because Kiki is a jealous bitch. She doesn't want her chauffeur talking to a younger, better-looking woman.''

``I wasn't coming on to him. I'm happy with Phil.'' Boy, am I happy, Helen thought.

``Then don't interfere,'' Millicent said sharply. ``Kiki's name should be Kinky. She likes watching her chauffeur stand by that car and sweat. She probably does him that way. Don't feel sorry for Rod. That's his job. Don't cater to him like he's married to a client. He's not a husband, although God knows he has some of the same duties.''

``At least Rod is well paid,'' Helen said.

``He thinks he is, the fool,'' Millicent said. ``Kiki's had many chauffeurs. She pays them minimum wage and puts them in her will for a million bucks. When she bounces them, she writes them out. Gets herself cheap help and first-class service that way. It must be a shock for those young men to go from millionaire dreams to minimum- wage reality. I can't imagine what it's like.''

I can, Helen thought. I used to make major money and live in a mansion before I caught my ex-husband with my next-door neightbor. I'd kill Kiki if she pulled that on me.

``How do you know these things?'' Helen said.

``It's the talk of the town,'' Millicent said.

Which town? Helen wondered. No one discussed it where she lived.

``This chauffeur will get his walking papers soon,'' Milli- cent said. ``Kiki didn't grope him when she got back into the car.''

Millicent talked so easily about the outre world of the overrich. Helen felt like a stranger in a parallel universe. ``Well, they're gone,'' she said. ``I'm glad it's over.''

``Over?'' Millicent said. ``It's just begun.'' DEAD BLONDES TELL NO TALES

A SCUMBLE RIVER MYSTERY

DENISE SWANSON Chapter 1

Blonde, But Not Forgotten

Bunny!''

``Ruby!''

``Girlfriend, you'll never believe . . .''

The Sunday-morning silence inside the bowling alley storeroom was shattered by the excited squeals coming from near the building's entrance. Skye Denison paused in midreach to listen. She recognized one voice as being that of Bunny Reid, the alley manager, but who was Ruby?

Scumble River, Illinois, was a small town of only three thousand people, most of whom Skye knew, and the name Ruby didn't ring a bell. And what would Bunny never be- lieve? Skye pursed her lips; she hadn't been able to hear the end of that sentence.

Oh, well, it really was none of her business, and the shrieking had stopped, so Skye shoved a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and went back to reshelving boxes of napkins and paper towels. Someone had gotten in overnight and thrown all the supplies into the middle of the floor, then tossed around the loose items in the rest of the bowl- ing alley. Nothing was missing or broken, but there was quite a mess to clean up.

This was a far cry from Skye's usual occupation. Forty- two weeks of the year she was employed as a psychologist for the Scumble River school district, but as of last Friday afternoon, Skye was on spring break for nine days.

She had briefly considered going somewhere warm for the holiday--the end of March in central Illinois was gener- ally cold and miserable--but the precarious state of her checkbook, along with her boyfriend Simon Reid's plea for

173 174 Denise Swanson help, had convinced her that taking the job he offered was a better move.

Simon was both the county coroner and the owner of Reid's Funeral Home. In addition, a few months ago he had bought the town bowling alley for his mother, Bunny, to manage. Bunny had reappeared in his life after a twenty- year absence, needing a job and a permanent address in order to avoid going to jail for missing prescription drugs.

Against his better judgment, Simon had decided to help Bunny. He didn't quite trust her--all was a long way from being forgiven or forgotten--but in the end he couldn't let his mother be locked up.

So far, Bunny had proven to be good at running the alley, but her recent idea to increase business--the Spring Break Bash--had worried Simon, and he had installed Skye to both help his mother and keep an eye on her. Skye was thankful that Bunny had been amused rather than insulted by her son's tactics.

As Skye put yet another box of paper goods back where it belonged, she was already questioning her decision to help Simon rather than raid her savings account and fly to Florida for the week. When she heard an angry male voice roar Bunny's name, Skye was pretty sure she had made a bad choice in staying home. And when that same voice boomed even louder, followed by a woman's scream, Skye knew she'd