Read Online A Rip Roaring Good Time by Jeanne Glidewell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeanne Glidewell
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livid.
To the man's chagrin, the detective appeared to be very captivated with Alice, and he spoke with her for a long time. As Alice spoke, he was writing occasional notes, or possibly just jotting down information on how to contact her later.
The remaining detectives began interviewing guests one-by-one, allowing them to leave the premises after they'd given a statement. As was the case with nearly everyone who was questioned, Alice Runcan did a lot of pointing toward the kitchen and then to the vicinity of where what's-his-name had been slain.
After being photographed from every perceivable angle, Trotter's worthless hide was carefully zipped into a body bag and carried out of the inn. The four burly men removed the body bag as if they were carrying easily disturbed and motion-sensitive explosive devices. I realized it was their way of showing respect for their boss's stepson. God help them if they were responsible for dropping the dude on his already brain-dead head. I'd have been more in favor of dragging his carcass across the floor like a bulky bag of potting soil, nudging it with my foot if it got hung up on the threshold of the front door. But then, I didn't have a job hanging in the balance like the detectives did.
Watching the victim being placed in the body bag had brought back memories of seeing nearly the same scene after the full-of-herself author had met her end in the RV Park. The two deaths in question certainly disproved the old adage that the "good die young". Both victims had had it coming, in my opinion. Karma could be a real bitch, if you know what I mean.
When Rip and I were questioned—individually, of course—there was very little we could attest to. I didn't think it was my place to inform the short, rotund detective questioning us what kind of deplorable person the stiff was before he met his maker. However, I'd have been happy to do so had the balding detective asked.
The portly detective frisked me and waved a high-intensity UV light around me like a TSA agent checking me for a weapon before I boarded an airplane. I was surprised he didn't insist on a cavity search or tell me to take off my shoes so he could scrutinize them for hidden weapons as well. The UV light he was using detected blood splatter, he explained, and was being utilized on every interviewee. Scanning the room full of stunned guests, every one of them looked potentially murderous to me.
Watching the same detective question Rip was like watching a man talking to himself in front of a mirror. Put Rip in his old policeman uniform, and I couldn't have told the two apart. I'm guessing the Rockdale detective favored doughnuts for sustenance as much as Rip did.
* * *
A few minutes later, I was standing in the front yard watching as numerous vehicles exited the parking area solemnly, like a funeral procession. I was soon joined by Wendy, Mattie Hill, and Sheila Davidson.
"How totally inconsiderate of that arrogant jerk to get himself killed and ruin the party. And here I was looking forward to sampling your 'citrus surprise' punch, Sheila," I said jokingly to lighten the mood a touch. There was a polite chuckle among the group, but the overall mood remained somber. We stood speechless for a spell before Wendy broke the silence by saying, "Well, speaking of 'surprise punch', if you all were aiming to surprise me on my birthday, you definitely succeeded."
* * *
I was saddened that Wendy's surprise party had gone by the wayside, thwarting Andy's plans to propose to her. I had hoped it would be a memorable occasion for her, one she'd remember fondly for the rest of her life. But what transpired was not at all what I'd had in mind. Wendy's surprise party was indeed memorable, but I doubted those memories would be remembered fondly.
I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I was not overly remorseful that Trotter Hayes had just looked karma in the face—and lost! No telling how many women, possibly even men, had a bone to pick
To the man's chagrin, the detective appeared to be very captivated with Alice, and he spoke with her for a long time. As Alice spoke, he was writing occasional notes, or possibly just jotting down information on how to contact her later.
The remaining detectives began interviewing guests one-by-one, allowing them to leave the premises after they'd given a statement. As was the case with nearly everyone who was questioned, Alice Runcan did a lot of pointing toward the kitchen and then to the vicinity of where what's-his-name had been slain.
After being photographed from every perceivable angle, Trotter's worthless hide was carefully zipped into a body bag and carried out of the inn. The four burly men removed the body bag as if they were carrying easily disturbed and motion-sensitive explosive devices. I realized it was their way of showing respect for their boss's stepson. God help them if they were responsible for dropping the dude on his already brain-dead head. I'd have been more in favor of dragging his carcass across the floor like a bulky bag of potting soil, nudging it with my foot if it got hung up on the threshold of the front door. But then, I didn't have a job hanging in the balance like the detectives did.
Watching the victim being placed in the body bag had brought back memories of seeing nearly the same scene after the full-of-herself author had met her end in the RV Park. The two deaths in question certainly disproved the old adage that the "good die young". Both victims had had it coming, in my opinion. Karma could be a real bitch, if you know what I mean.
When Rip and I were questioned—individually, of course—there was very little we could attest to. I didn't think it was my place to inform the short, rotund detective questioning us what kind of deplorable person the stiff was before he met his maker. However, I'd have been happy to do so had the balding detective asked.
The portly detective frisked me and waved a high-intensity UV light around me like a TSA agent checking me for a weapon before I boarded an airplane. I was surprised he didn't insist on a cavity search or tell me to take off my shoes so he could scrutinize them for hidden weapons as well. The UV light he was using detected blood splatter, he explained, and was being utilized on every interviewee. Scanning the room full of stunned guests, every one of them looked potentially murderous to me.
Watching the same detective question Rip was like watching a man talking to himself in front of a mirror. Put Rip in his old policeman uniform, and I couldn't have told the two apart. I'm guessing the Rockdale detective favored doughnuts for sustenance as much as Rip did.
* * *
A few minutes later, I was standing in the front yard watching as numerous vehicles exited the parking area solemnly, like a funeral procession. I was soon joined by Wendy, Mattie Hill, and Sheila Davidson.
"How totally inconsiderate of that arrogant jerk to get himself killed and ruin the party. And here I was looking forward to sampling your 'citrus surprise' punch, Sheila," I said jokingly to lighten the mood a touch. There was a polite chuckle among the group, but the overall mood remained somber. We stood speechless for a spell before Wendy broke the silence by saying, "Well, speaking of 'surprise punch', if you all were aiming to surprise me on my birthday, you definitely succeeded."
* * *
I was saddened that Wendy's surprise party had gone by the wayside, thwarting Andy's plans to propose to her. I had hoped it would be a memorable occasion for her, one she'd remember fondly for the rest of her life. But what transpired was not at all what I'd had in mind. Wendy's surprise party was indeed memorable, but I doubted those memories would be remembered fondly.
I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I was not overly remorseful that Trotter Hayes had just looked karma in the face—and lost! No telling how many women, possibly even men, had a bone to pick
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