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

reached up and caressed his cheek. ``Make it eleven thirty. You didn't let me get much rest last night, and I need my beauty sleep.''

Skye struggled to wake up. She had hit the snooze button several times and knew that if she didn't get up soon, Simon would be ringing her doorbell while she was in the shower. Maybe she should give him a key. He'd been hint- ing for the last month or so that he wanted one, and had offered to make her a copy of his, but she wasn't sure that was a step she wanted to take at this point in their relationship.

She had only ever been this intimate with one other man, and look how poorly that had turned out. He had jilted her and left her broke and out of a job.

But now wasn't the time to think about that. She had to get dressed, interrogate Ruby, and help a hundred children dye Easter eggs. Deciding whether to exchange keys with her boyfriend would have to wait.

She rolled over and swung her legs out of bed, her eyes still closed. Her toe encountered something warm and furry, and an infuriated yowl informed her it was Bingo. She had fed the cat when she got home at three thirty, hoping to appease him into letting her sleep past his usual six o'clock hunger alarm.

It must have worked, because instead of rousing her he had been snoozing on the throw rug by the side of her bed. Stepping on his tail had not been the best way to wake him. He narrowed his golden eyes, hissed, and ran out of the room.

Skye swept a sheaf of hair out of her eyes, and dragged herself into the bathroom. She hoped Bingo wouldn't pun- ish her by using someplace other than his litter box for his morning pee. She had tried behavior modification on the feline, but she was afraid he had altered her own conduct more than she had changed his.

After a quick shower, she stood in front of her closet as she blew-dry her hair. What to put on? In her heart she yearned to start wearing spring clothes, but even though it was the last day in March, the temperature was expected to get only into the low forties. Also, there was the question DEAD BLONDES TELL NO TALES 219 of the Easter-egg dye. Did she really want to risk a new outfit?

Fighting the temptation to give in to vanity, she grabbed a pair of jeans and a navy sweatshirt with a bright orange U OF I printed on the front. Might as well support her alma mater if she couldn't wear something pretty.

Simon arrived as she was lacing up her sneakers. She grabbed her jacket and purse and kissed him, then said, ``I'm famished. Let's go.'' She'd missed supper the night before due to her unexpected bartending duties, and hadn't had time for breakfast.

``We can't have you starving to death.'' Simon took her hand and led her to his car. ``Where would you like to go?''

``Gee, I don't know. We aren't exactly a matched set this morning.'' Simon was dressed for work in a dark suit, shirt, and tie. Skye felt shabby beside him. ``Plus we're in sort of a hurry, so let's just go to the Feed Bag.''

``You know you look beautiful whatever you wear.'' Simon hugged her before tucking her into the passenger seat of the Lexus.

Skye made a face. Simon was always a gentleman, but she knew she was far from beautiful. She had nice hair, when the humidity was low and it behaved itself, and great eyes. On a good day but she could be called pretty, but after less than eight hours of sleep, she was lucky to achieve ``doesn't frighten small children and dogs.''

As they drove to the restaurant, Simon told her about the wake he had scheduled for that afternoon and evening. The deceased was a popular local man with a big family, which meant there was a lot of work to do preparing for the large crowd that was anticipated.

Other than McDonald's and a sandwich shop, the Feed Bag was the only restaurant in town. The owner, Tomi Jackson, had redecorated in 1984, using lots of mauve and brass, and hadn't touched it since then. Over twenty years of hard wear were catching up with the interior. Rips in the vinyl seats had been repaired with duct tape, and smudges on the walls had been dabbed with a color that didn't quite match the original paint.

Skye and Simon snagged one of the last available booths, and both ordered as soon as the waitress appeared. They 220 Denise Swanson ate at the Feed Bag at least once a week, and knew the menu by heart.

While they were waiting for their food, Simon said, ``I went with Hacker to the police station this morning.''

``What did Wally have to say about his being attacked?''

``It was a little strange. I could tell he was interested, maybe even angry, but he didn't say anything. He just asked Hacker some questions, took a report, and thanked him for coming in.''

Skye squeezed a lime wedge into her Diet Coke. ``I sure wish we could get Wally to tell us what he knows.''

Simon's voice was mild, but there was an underlying tone Skye couldn't quite put her finger on. ``Have you tried to talk to him?''

``No.'' She fought to keep her expression neutral. This was dangerous ground. She and Simon had never discussed the ``Wally issue,'' and she certainly didn't want to do it now. ``I don't think he'd tell me anything he hasn't told you.''

Before Simon could comment, the waitress served their food, and they dug in. Skye steered the conversation to safer topics, and they ended up discussing a trip they were hoping to take to the lake as