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

Since it was too late to leave for Fort Lauderdale now, she knew she'd better find out what was going on. Skye dropped the carton of straws she had been holding, and took off running.

As she flew out of the stockroom, the shouting became louder and more strident. When she rounded the corner, she gasped and ran faster. Near the front door, Scumble River's police chief, Wally Boyd, stood with a tall, full- figured blonde in handcuffs. That was bad enough, but the real cause of Skye's distress was the redhead beating the chief with a bowling pin.

Skye was used to Bunny's impulsive behavior, but this time she'd gone too far. Assaulting a police officer was not in the same category as greeting your gentleman friend at the door wearing nothing but Saran Wrap, or unwittingly DEAD BLONDES TELL NO TALES 175 hiring a drug pusher to manage the alley's grill. Had Si- mon's mother completely lost her mind?

Once Skye got closer, she noted with relief that at least the pin was a Styrofoam decoration and not the real thing. Bits of white plastic were lodged in Wally's black hair, and a snowdrift of pellets was forming at his feet. The expres- sion in the chief's usually warm brown eyes did not bode well for either the redhead's or the blonde's future.

Although he didn't look it, Wally had turned forty a few weeks ago, and he hadn't been in the best mood since then. Normally, Skye would have stepped in right away--she had found coping with Bunny wasn't very different from dealing with the teenagers at school; it was a good idea to nip any misbehavior immediately in the bud--but Skye and Wally were not currently on the best of terms, so she hesitated trying to figure out the most advantageous way to ap- proach him.

Skye's pause was just long enough for Bunny to throw away the remains of the disintegrated Styrofoam bowling pin and pick up an umbrella hanging on a nearby coatrack. As Bunny drew back, looking like Babe Ruth about to make a game-winning home run, Skye flung herself forward.

Depending on one's perspective, her timing was either perfect--she saved Bunny from being charged with as- saulting a police officer--or it was a little off--the brunt of the swing caught Skye across the face, and she went down like a seven�ten split knocked over by the ball of a pro bowler.

For a moment there was complete silence; then Wally roared, ``Son of a bitch!''

Bunny threw herself on Skye, wailing, ``I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you all right? Say you're all right.''

Wally wrenched the redhead away, ordering her, ``Get a wet rag and a cold compress.'' He knelt by Skye's side and gently cupped her chin. ``Do you need an ambulance?''

``No.'' Skye struggled to sit up. She could taste blood in the back of her throat, and was afraid she would vomit if she didn't lift her head.

``Lie still for a minute.'' Wally put a hand on her shoul- der and pressed her back. ``Let me get a good look.'' 176 Denise Swanson

Skye fought back tears of pain as he ran his fingers lightly over her cheeks and nose. He'd had EMT training, and she trusted him to make an accurate assessment of her injuries.

``I don't think anything is broken. Your nose is bleeding, but it looks intact, and your cheekbones seem okay, too. How's your vision?''

That was a good question. Skye squinted. How many Wallys were there? She could make out three--no, four. After she blinked a few times his multiple faces merged into one. ``I can see fine.''

A subdued Bunny returned with the first-aid items. Wally took the wet cloth and ice-filled dishcloth without acknowl- edging her, all his attention on Skye. Bunny hovered near his shoulder, wringing her hands.

Wally murmured reassuringly to Skye as he cleaned away the blood from her face. At last he handed her the cold compress and instructed, ``Hold this across your nose and cheeks.''

``Okay, but I need to sit up.'' She felt too helpless lying on her back.

He put one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, then lifted her into a chair Bunny had brought over from the bar.

Skye was impressed with his strength. She was no light- weight, yet he had picked her up as if she were a size six.

Once Skye was settled, Wally turned on Bunny, his voice controlled, and as chilly as his eyes. ``Care to explain yourself?''

``You're the one who barged in here, grabbed poor Ruby, and slapped her in handcuffs.'' Bunny crossed her arms under her surgically enhanced breasts and scowled. ``You explain.''

Skye moaned from beneath her ice pack. Bunny was tak- ing the exact wrong approach with Wally.

The chief's expression hardened, but he said in an even tone, ``You go first.''

Bunny opened her mouth, a stubborn look on her face, but before she could speak Skye loudly cleared her throat and, despite the sharp pain it caused, wildly shook her head no.

Some sense of self-preservation must have finally kicked in, and Bunny's expression changed from petulant to DEAD BLONDES TELL NO TALES 177 shrewd. She moved closer to Wally, running a long red nail studded with rhinestones down his chest. ``I am so sorry, Chief. I don't know what got into me.'' She fluttered her fake eyelashes. ``I guess it was seeing great big old you manhandling my best friend in the whole world.''

Wally's response was an exasperated, animal-like grunt as he moved out of her reach.

``Now, don't be like that,'' Bunny cajoled, fluffing the pile of fire-engine-red curls artfully arranged on the top of her head. ``You're just so big and strong that I was scared you were going to hurt my friend.''

``Right.'' He raised a dark eyebrow, his tone skeptical.

Bunny pouted, but wisely