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

security guard.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Packing heat satisfied a deep need that I didn’t know I had until I packed it.”

“A...security guard?” Delaney croaked out.

Mickey just croaked.

“I had to cut the gig because I couldn’t keep the gun belt up. Kept falling down around my ankles. And if you loop it around your neck, it’s hard to get the gun out.” She leaned forward to confide, “That’s how he got shot.”

Mickey swallowed. “Shot—who?”

“My boss.” She looked at Delaney, whose mouth was twitching, but not producing words. “It was just a flesh wound.” She looked at Mickey, who knew he was doing the landed fish, gaping thing, but was unable to do anything about it. “He was too old for children anyway.”

It was, Mickey decided, a nightmare. An amusement park nightmare where you wander around getting on safe rides, but they all turn out to be the roller coaster to hell.

Delaney, dazed but trying, got up and pulled out Miss Weena’s chair.

“We’ll call you,” he said. He held the door for her. Mickey saw her give him a flirty smile, then pat his butt before sashaying out the door. Delaney shoved the door closed and looked at Mickey.

Mickey grinned. “Hey, you’re the one who thought they sounded interesting.”

Delaney shuddered. “I must have been out of my mind.”

Miss Hermi was a welcome relief, a brief respite in the Seymour storm. She didn’t try to squeeze anything, kept her distance, and tried to answer their questions. Her problem was a simple lack of interest. She wanted to talk about Eddie and Unabelle’s honeymoon, something Mickey preferred to never think about.

“It’s so important to get a good start to the marriage, don’t you think?” Miss Hermi’s voice flowed out her papery lips, like a gently babbling brook.

Mickey looked at Delaney, who looked as clueless as Mickey felt. They both shrugged, which she seemed to take as encouragement to continue.

“Men think all that’s important is good sex, but what about shopping? Sex is slam, bam, thank you ma’am, but you take mementos home with you.”

It was a wild guess, but Mickey had a feeling that Miss Hermi was probably responsible for the collection of National Park shot glasses scattered around the room. It was easier to focus on this thought than the one where Eddie was slamming, bamming or thank-you-ma’aming Unabelle. Or that sweet little Miss Hermi had just said that.

Delaney pulled himself together and managed to dig out the meager information that Miss Theo had jurisdiction over the freezer and Miss Hermi ruled the garden.

“We came through the garden,” Mickey said. “It was very—interesting.”

Pink flaked her cheeks. “Well, I do think it’s coming along nicely. In days past, I wouldn’t have chosen cement as a medium for expression, but it’s turned out rather well and far less costly than marble.” She frowned. “Not too sure about that gazebo, though. That was Reggie’s idea. He said it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t in the middle of the garden, because I couldn’t cut down a tree, even for art’s sake. Normally I wouldn’t listen to a Seymour male, but Reggie’s a little less asinine than one might expect.”

“Reggie?” Mickey pulled the name out of her jumble of words. “I don’t think anyone’s mentioned Reggie?”

“Well, he’s easy to forget when he’s not here. He’s in Cleveland. He has business interests there. When he gets back he’s giving the bride away. In the gazebo. After he finishes it, of course.”

“Of course,” Mickey echoed, looking at Delaney. Cleveland. Luci had said something about Cleveland last night. Something about her neighbor. He realized what he was doing and gave himself a mental shake. Focus, Ross. Focus on Reggie. He might not have the legs Luci had, but he could be a real, viable suspect.

Even after twenty minutes exposure, and twenty years living in New York City, Fern couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Perhaps it was the sluggish economy that had driven the mall manager to attempt the Christmas in August theme, complete with several truckloads of imported snow and, inexplicably, ten Elvis impersonators.

The snow was piled next to the escalator and heaped to resemble a mountain slope, with plastic evergreens randomly impaling the white surface for realism. Then the pile was opened up for snow play to hundreds of children. The only person who seemed surprised when the children ran amok was the organizer of the event.

Next to the snow hill was a gaudy stage where the Elvises were assembled, each attired, like the stamps, to represent a different period in Elvis’s life.

Beside her, Donald choked for the third time. Fern looked at him. Judging by the amount of eyeball white showing, he was approaching heart attack level. Not that she blamed him. It had been a long, discouraging day, broken only by that brief moment of hope when they picked up the Seymour woman’s trail at the streetcar stop. Why she had to visit four malls besides this one, not to mention ride the bus across the bridge over the river—

Fern’s blood pressure wasn’t doing so hot either. Oh, how she wanted to do her, Fern thought, staring at the now-hated profile browsing in a store across from them. This hit was taking on the trappings of a Quest. Something to do for the pleasure as much as for the money.

But first she had to get Donald calmed down. Or he would do her right here in the mall in front of everybody, and they’d never get to Disneyland.

“Why don’t you sit on that bench there, Donald, and I’ll get you a Coke or something?”

He nodded, and she paused only to make sure of her bearings before heading for a food counter she could see in the distance, her orthopedic shoes not protecting her aching feet from the stone floor. As she collected their drinks and made her way back to where Donald waited, she could hear the discordant wailing of the Elvises turn into synchronized sound. Easing through the crowd that