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

The dog, panting helpfully, jumped the fence and stuck his nose in Artie’s crotch.

When they’d stopped in front of the house, Delaney hopped out and opened the door for Luci. Mickey looked past him, then pointed towards the yard with a half-grin that still had dazed around the edges.

“Look. A gnome.”

Bent precariously over the porch railing was a short round man with a Humpty Dumpty body and stumpy legs. His inverted bald head was visible through the porch railing.

“Boudreaux,” Luci said.

Mickey watched him over-balance, then tumble into the azaleas. There was a shudder of leaves, then he emerged, leaves clinging to pate and clothes. He started to brush himself off, but stopped when he saw them.

“Would you tell the aunts we’re going to look at their stiff?” Luci said.

Mickey watched in horrid fascination as Boudreaux approached, his pants slipping further down his hips with each jogging step. His cracked lips opened and out came a Cajun-tinged garble of words, none of which Mickey could decipher. He looked at Delaney and found him suffering from the same lack of comprehension.

“Uh oh.” Luci shook her head. “How long have they been there?”

Boudreaux responded with another burst of gibberish.

“Oh, dear.” She looked at the two men. Boudreaux trotted back to his azaleas. “We’d better hurry.”

Mickey didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he had one moment of understanding. It didn’t have to be a big moment, but he damn well wanted to understand something.

“What the hell was that?”

Luci didn’t answer right away. She appeared to give it serious consideration. “Two people...communicating?”

“That,” Mickey said, positively, “was not communicating. That was...not even in the same star system as communicating!”

Luci looked at him the way someone looks at a lunatic. “Okay. We weren’t communicating. No problem. But the aunts are still alone in the garage with your stiff.”

“The garage?” Mickey heard his voice rising and cut it off at the pass. “It’s in the garage?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “Louise is getting tea.”

“Tea?” Delaney looked uneasy. “Why?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “It’s not like there’s a lot of room in there between the Nash and the freezer. Unless we set it on top of the freezer. Oh, well.” She gave them a cheery smile. “We’ll just have to see what they have in mind, won’t we?”

This time they didn’t look at each other. Perhaps, she decided, they didn’t want the other to see the stark fear in each other’s eyes?

Mickey followed Luci and Delaney along the sidewalk that bordered the long side of the property. Due to the dense growth that mingled in and around the fence, he could only catch the occasional glimpse of the area behind the house. The fence barely contained the plant life and couldn’t begin to contain the rich scent of leaf and bud, strangely mixed with a hint of disinfectant.

Trying not to look at Luci’s swaying hips just ahead of him, Mickey’s gaze bounced off a small Ford that was parked under the shade of an oak tree. Inside was an elderly couple studying a map. He wasn’t in the mood to be helpful, and before they could notice him and ask for help, he re-directed his attention toward the small gate that closed off the garage area from the street.

“I’m trying to get the Nash up and running,” Luci explained, or at least giving the Seymour equivalent of an explanation. “So I can get around. I wanted to rent a car but the aunts freaked, and now I can’t get one because of this proctologists’ convention.”

“Your aunts have something against rental cars?” Delaney asked.

“Only against children driving rental cars. They have no problem now that I’m a grownup. Or they wouldn’t if I could get one. Won’t matter if I can get the Nash running.”

“You’re going to fix a Nash?” Mickey didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “I suppose now you’re a mechanic, too?” It was getting hard to keep up with what she did.

“Oh, I wouldn’t claim to be a mechanic. That implies professional knowledge of car repair, and I repair by intuition. I expect it’s something I inherited from my father’s side, because the Seymours are dangerous around engines.” She stopped at the gate, pushed it open, and then stepped into the tiny courtyard.

Mickey, with a sense of foreboding, followed Delaney inside.

Like many in New Orleans, the courtyard still retained its other-century feel. Small, with a meager cobbled driveway and a high wooden fence around the perimeter, it had been adequate in the days of horse and carriage. Now there was barely room to navigate an automobile, if the paint on the posts was any indication. There were also ominous signs that cleaning had taken place recently. The cobblestones still showed signs of damp in the high hot sun, and the latches of the gate and garage’s double doors had been polished and oiled. The scent of disinfectant was much stronger here, too, mingling with the smell of green growing things and horse. From the partly open door could be heard the murmur of several high-pitched voices.

Against a rising instinct to run, Mickey went to the garage and pulled open the door. At the rear of the stable/garage, on the other side of a Nash that matched the paint on the posts, three old ladies stood in a semi-circle around the open freezer—which had flowers arranged on either side and a big, black bow hooked over the latch.

“What are we supposed to envy about that?” Miss Hermi asked, in her fluting, fluttery voice.

“I was a little surprised, too,” Miss Theo admitted.

“Well, I’m disappointed.” Miss Weena said flatly.

“I always suspected that men blew it all out of proportion,” Miss Theo said. “But then, men have never made any sense to me.”

Her sisters nodded their agreement like small faded vultures.

There were a lot of things Mickey would have preferred doing besides stepping into that garage. This included facing serial killers and drug dealers with assault weapons. But Luci pushed the other door open, letting sunlight