Read Online 2 Double Dip by Gretchen Archer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gretchen Archer
Ads: Link
you thinking sending Granny with Thing ,” my right arm shot out in Thing’s direction, “to my home ! How about dammit, Meredith?”
“Dammit!” My niece Riley announced.
“Dammit!” Fantasy’s small child stamped a Jordan. Super.Fly.
“Jesus,” Fantasy mumbled.
“Hey.” Eddie the Thing was stretching off his nap. “Whenever you all wind this up, I’m going to need a ride to my place.”
“First of all, Eddie,” I turned to face him, “you don’t have a place. Say, ‘I need a ride to my parents’ mobile home.’ And second of all, walk.” Then to Fantasy, “Go, go, go!”
There were two hours of road between Pine Apple and Beehive, a lot of it standstill traffic in Montgomery, and Meredith let us get through all the 85/65 exchange construction before she called and said, “I hope you know Granny’s sleeping in the back seat.”
I looked in the rearview mirror. Granny was awake, upright, and smiling. Her hair was awake, upright, and screaming. “I COULD USE A LITTLE SOMETHING TO WET MY WHISTLE, DAVIE.”
I hung up on Meredith.
We found a diner in Shorter, Alabama. We chose a booth. Granny sat beside me. Fantasy pulled a thick file folder out of her bag, and I turned to Granny. “We’re going to work a few minutes while we wait on our pie.”
“The secret to a perfect pie crust is ice water and a wooden rolling pin.” Granny was wide-eyed, her little head bobbing. “And you can use your rolling pin to bop someone over the head if need be.” Then my eighty-two-year-old grandmother reenacted a rolling-pin head-bopping, complete with soundtrack. “THWACK.”
“What happened to your grandfather?” Fantasy asked from behind her hand.
“We’re not sure,” I said from behind mine.
Fantasy’s eyes were wide. Granny patted her blue hair. I patted Granny’s little bird arm.
“Why do you have a picture of Jewell?” my grandmother asked.
Double take. I flipped the eight-by-ten black and white and moved it as close to Granny’s nose as I could. “Do you know this woman, Granny?”
A crooked finger shot out. “That’s Jewell Maffini.”
“How do you know her?”
“From the Fortune Casino,” Granny said. “She played there before it was shut down. You know who her grandson is, don’t you?” Granny dragged Jewell’s picture an inch closer.
“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t know her grandson.”
“Mr. Microphone,” Granny said, “at your casino. If things don’t work out with you and your new young man, I could have Jewell introduce you.”
And this would be what caught No Hair’s eye. If Jewell Maffini is related to Matthew Thatcher, and Jewell Maffini is related to Bianca’s missing assistant, Peyton Reynolds, then Matthew Thatcher and Peyton Reynolds are connected.
“Of course, I’ll always have a soft spot for Eddie,” Granny said. “He’s a hunk.”
* * *
Beehive, Alabama. Who knew?
I knew the necessities, because I’d grown up not too far from here. It was one of many small Alabama towns named, surely, over pints of ale.
“Let’s call ye ole town Flabbergast Foot.”
“Thee’s crazed. We shall call it Horse’s Large Member.”
“What hast happened to thou?”
“A bee’s hive hath dones’t dropped on mine head.”
Well, there you go. Beehive. Every time I’d heard mention of Beehive, Alabama, it was either about the church we were here to take a look at, rumored to be outrageously large, or cheeseburgers, rumored to be heavenly. And also outrageously large.
Population: roughly five thousand. Beehive was more an exurbia of Auburn, Alabama, twenty miles away, than anything else. It was mostly residential, make that mansionential, the four corners of the city made up of subdivisions named after horse race tracks. Fountains, statues, magnolias, and elaborate guard houses announced entrances to Churchill Downs, Belmont, Saratoga, and Pimlico.
“These people have some money ,” Fantasy commented.
“I’ll
“Dammit!” My niece Riley announced.
“Dammit!” Fantasy’s small child stamped a Jordan. Super.Fly.
“Jesus,” Fantasy mumbled.
“Hey.” Eddie the Thing was stretching off his nap. “Whenever you all wind this up, I’m going to need a ride to my place.”
“First of all, Eddie,” I turned to face him, “you don’t have a place. Say, ‘I need a ride to my parents’ mobile home.’ And second of all, walk.” Then to Fantasy, “Go, go, go!”
There were two hours of road between Pine Apple and Beehive, a lot of it standstill traffic in Montgomery, and Meredith let us get through all the 85/65 exchange construction before she called and said, “I hope you know Granny’s sleeping in the back seat.”
I looked in the rearview mirror. Granny was awake, upright, and smiling. Her hair was awake, upright, and screaming. “I COULD USE A LITTLE SOMETHING TO WET MY WHISTLE, DAVIE.”
I hung up on Meredith.
We found a diner in Shorter, Alabama. We chose a booth. Granny sat beside me. Fantasy pulled a thick file folder out of her bag, and I turned to Granny. “We’re going to work a few minutes while we wait on our pie.”
“The secret to a perfect pie crust is ice water and a wooden rolling pin.” Granny was wide-eyed, her little head bobbing. “And you can use your rolling pin to bop someone over the head if need be.” Then my eighty-two-year-old grandmother reenacted a rolling-pin head-bopping, complete with soundtrack. “THWACK.”
“What happened to your grandfather?” Fantasy asked from behind her hand.
“We’re not sure,” I said from behind mine.
Fantasy’s eyes were wide. Granny patted her blue hair. I patted Granny’s little bird arm.
“Why do you have a picture of Jewell?” my grandmother asked.
Double take. I flipped the eight-by-ten black and white and moved it as close to Granny’s nose as I could. “Do you know this woman, Granny?”
A crooked finger shot out. “That’s Jewell Maffini.”
“How do you know her?”
“From the Fortune Casino,” Granny said. “She played there before it was shut down. You know who her grandson is, don’t you?” Granny dragged Jewell’s picture an inch closer.
“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t know her grandson.”
“Mr. Microphone,” Granny said, “at your casino. If things don’t work out with you and your new young man, I could have Jewell introduce you.”
And this would be what caught No Hair’s eye. If Jewell Maffini is related to Matthew Thatcher, and Jewell Maffini is related to Bianca’s missing assistant, Peyton Reynolds, then Matthew Thatcher and Peyton Reynolds are connected.
“Of course, I’ll always have a soft spot for Eddie,” Granny said. “He’s a hunk.”
* * *
Beehive, Alabama. Who knew?
I knew the necessities, because I’d grown up not too far from here. It was one of many small Alabama towns named, surely, over pints of ale.
“Let’s call ye ole town Flabbergast Foot.”
“Thee’s crazed. We shall call it Horse’s Large Member.”
“What hast happened to thou?”
“A bee’s hive hath dones’t dropped on mine head.”
Well, there you go. Beehive. Every time I’d heard mention of Beehive, Alabama, it was either about the church we were here to take a look at, rumored to be outrageously large, or cheeseburgers, rumored to be heavenly. And also outrageously large.
Population: roughly five thousand. Beehive was more an exurbia of Auburn, Alabama, twenty miles away, than anything else. It was mostly residential, make that mansionential, the four corners of the city made up of subdivisions named after horse race tracks. Fountains, statues, magnolias, and elaborate guard houses announced entrances to Churchill Downs, Belmont, Saratoga, and Pimlico.
“These people have some money ,” Fantasy commented.
“I’ll
Similar Books
