Read Online Bubbles All The Way by Sarah Strohmeyer - Free Book Online Page A

moved a few steps away, extending my escape hatch. “Actually, it was more along the lines of latex. She had a pretty severe allergy, I guess.” I narrowed my eyes. “Were you aware of that?”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Claimed she couldn’t clean a house because she’d have to wear rubber gloves. Wouldn’t use a diaphragm, either.” He shook his head sloppily. “I never believed it. Not for a minute.”
    “Maybe you should have. She died a few minutes after latex glue was applied to her scalp.”
    Ern shrugged. “Yeah? What were her last words?”
    I hesitated. What an odd question.
    “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t remember.”What had been her last words, anyway? “I think she said she felt as if something bad was going to happen.”
    “No kidding.” He looked off, toward the string of red brake lights on Union. I couldn’t tell if he was crying or surprised or sad. “That might have been a reaction to the latex. You feel as if something bad is about to happen.”
    I would remember to write this down.
    “Then again, she was probably thinking, Shit, I’ve been murdered. Not like she wasn’t concerned. Debbie was paranoid—that’s for sure.”
    All my senses were on edge. “Oh?”
    “Though, the way I look at it, it was just a matter of time before someone got to her. Lord knows she deserved it.”
    This was it. This was the big exclusive experienced reporters always go on and on about. I took a second to mentally compliment myself for taking the initiative and tracking down Ern. “You don’t mean that,” I said, egging him on.
    “Like hell I don’t. If I told you what the real Debbie was about, you wouldn’t believe it.”
    “Try me. I’m very gullible. Everyone says so.”
    “First of all, get this straight. It was my idea.” He stabbed his thumb into his chest. “I was the one with the information. Debbie stole it from me and took over everything. It wasn’t her scam. It was mine. She got too greedy.”
    I repeated the words in my mind so I could write them down later. I didn’t dare bring out my notebook now. No telling how Ern might react seeing me with pen and paper. Not many hairdressers take notes.
    “What kind of scam?” I took a step closer.
    Ern was very tall with the wiry frame you often see on righteous dudes who prefer to hang out at NASCAR races or on death row. “Why should I tell you?”
    I thought fast. “Because what you know might clear an innocent woman. My boss and best friend who owns the House of Beauty is watching her life fall down around her. Everyone thinks she is at fault in Debbie’s death, and I know in my heart she wasn’t. She’s going to be punished unfairly, either with a civil suit that’ll close her salon or worse. Possibly”—I took a breath—“criminal negligence charges.”
    “You think that gets to me? That doesn’t get to me. I know all about being innocent in prison. I just spent the last five years being innocent in prison.” He held on to the bottle so precariously I worried he’d toss it like he had the bell and that it would land on some commuter’s windshield. Then there’d be trouble. “And do you know why I went to prison even though I was innocent?”
    I stopped myself from answering. This might have been what they call a rhetorical question. I wasn’t really sure what a rhetorical question was. It was like irony, I figured. Indefinable, yet beloved by English teachers everywhere. As part of my self-improvement program, I had set a goal to be able to identify rhetorical questions with ease by the new year. So far, I wasn’t doing so well.
    “Is that a rhetorical question?” I asked.
    Ern didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know either?
    “Debbie. She was the one who put me in prison. Wanted me out of the way so she could run our scam without giving me a cut. The bitch. Though it was good she was stopped. That scam of hers could’ve turned this town upside down.”
    We were silent, watching the cars zip by, Ern