Read Online Current Affairs (Tiara Investigations Mysteries) by Lane Stone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lane Stone
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you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He blew her a kiss, and before he got to the door he turned and took one last look back at her. Shorty just kept walking.
“The wrinkles,” I said to the back of their heads.
“What?” Both men had turned around.
Victoria clarified it, “The best thing ever to come out of a penis is the wrinkles, Frank.”
“That’s hot,” Tara said. “That is dashboard-hot.”
Stephie heard the door open and scampered up, not wanting to be left at home if we were going out on a case.
“What’re you doing here?” Shorty asked the dog.
“That’s not your dog. That’s Stephie , my dog.”
“Hmm. We have one that looks just like it. Victoria, what’s our dog’s name?”
She hesitated. “Don’t know.” I jerked my head to look at her. She realized this was a tad shy of believable and recovered pretty nicely, “Donna. Our dog’s name is Donna.”
All of a sudden I appreciated Paul for being a wonderful boyfriend to my friend. “Paul? You were asking what my husband thinks about the situation in the Middle East. Well, he says that to understand the region you have to accept the fact that everything you ever heard about the Middle East is true.”
“Oh, thanks.” He did that head tilting thing again.
As soon as we heard the door click I turned to Victoria. “Hon, why didn’t you want to tell him what you named your dog?”
“I know he thinks Mr. Benz is a dumb name for a dog. And all of a sudden I was scared we might lose Tiara.”
Tara walked over to her. “We will not let that happen!”
“No, we won’t.”
“What are we going to say to Detective Kent?” Victoria asked.
Tara folded her dish towel. “My Daddy always said, ‘Once you’re explaining, you’re losing.’ So let’s not say much.”
“That’ll work out fine since we don’t know much.” I turned to Tara, “Paul is so nice. Do you two ever fight?”
“Sure we do. Sometimes I’ll pick a fight just for the make-up sex. When he gets exasperated his Northern accent really comes out. Like last night we had a few words, and I said, ‘Stop talking like a Northerner.’ He said, ‘I am a Northerner!’ Then I said, ‘Well, I’m a Southerner, and you don’t hear me talking with an accent.’” Tara turned off the oven. “What the hell?”
I looked around to see why she had said this last part. Victoria was crying. “Sorry. That is just so sweet.”
Tara took her a tissue and started rubbing her back. “Menopause, Honey?”
“Yeah, menopause.”
“I really like Paul. I don’t usually like such nice people. They make me do things like spell cuss words.” I said this to get us perked up again. “And mark my words we are going to kick a-s-s at that police station this afternoon. Now where is that note I wrote about staying out of Cracker Barrel?”
“I don’t have it.”
“I don’t have it.”
I checked the table, not there. “It was probably thrown away. We can’t worry about that now. Every time I think about talking to that detective, I get as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
“Victoria, are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m glad he got that straightened out about the in-patient. Once again he’s overcome my mistake.” Then to prove she had recovered from being spoken to like that, she said, “Let’s get our meeting with Detective Kent over with. I’m as nervous as a whore in church.”
“That never made me nervous,” Tara answered.
Five
C ontinuation of statement by Leigh Reed. An hour later the Tiara detectives, heretofore described as untrained, ill-equipped and incompetent, walked into Detective Kent’s office in Lawrenceville, the county seat. We wore pant suits. Mine was khaki, Victoria’s was cream colored linen, and Tara’s was dark brown silk.
“Ladies.” He led us down the hall to a conference room. The chairs were aluminum with vinyl covered seats, the table was made of pressed wood, and the
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He blew her a kiss, and before he got to the door he turned and took one last look back at her. Shorty just kept walking.
“The wrinkles,” I said to the back of their heads.
“What?” Both men had turned around.
Victoria clarified it, “The best thing ever to come out of a penis is the wrinkles, Frank.”
“That’s hot,” Tara said. “That is dashboard-hot.”
Stephie heard the door open and scampered up, not wanting to be left at home if we were going out on a case.
“What’re you doing here?” Shorty asked the dog.
“That’s not your dog. That’s Stephie , my dog.”
“Hmm. We have one that looks just like it. Victoria, what’s our dog’s name?”
She hesitated. “Don’t know.” I jerked my head to look at her. She realized this was a tad shy of believable and recovered pretty nicely, “Donna. Our dog’s name is Donna.”
All of a sudden I appreciated Paul for being a wonderful boyfriend to my friend. “Paul? You were asking what my husband thinks about the situation in the Middle East. Well, he says that to understand the region you have to accept the fact that everything you ever heard about the Middle East is true.”
“Oh, thanks.” He did that head tilting thing again.
As soon as we heard the door click I turned to Victoria. “Hon, why didn’t you want to tell him what you named your dog?”
“I know he thinks Mr. Benz is a dumb name for a dog. And all of a sudden I was scared we might lose Tiara.”
Tara walked over to her. “We will not let that happen!”
“No, we won’t.”
“What are we going to say to Detective Kent?” Victoria asked.
Tara folded her dish towel. “My Daddy always said, ‘Once you’re explaining, you’re losing.’ So let’s not say much.”
“That’ll work out fine since we don’t know much.” I turned to Tara, “Paul is so nice. Do you two ever fight?”
“Sure we do. Sometimes I’ll pick a fight just for the make-up sex. When he gets exasperated his Northern accent really comes out. Like last night we had a few words, and I said, ‘Stop talking like a Northerner.’ He said, ‘I am a Northerner!’ Then I said, ‘Well, I’m a Southerner, and you don’t hear me talking with an accent.’” Tara turned off the oven. “What the hell?”
I looked around to see why she had said this last part. Victoria was crying. “Sorry. That is just so sweet.”
Tara took her a tissue and started rubbing her back. “Menopause, Honey?”
“Yeah, menopause.”
“I really like Paul. I don’t usually like such nice people. They make me do things like spell cuss words.” I said this to get us perked up again. “And mark my words we are going to kick a-s-s at that police station this afternoon. Now where is that note I wrote about staying out of Cracker Barrel?”
“I don’t have it.”
“I don’t have it.”
I checked the table, not there. “It was probably thrown away. We can’t worry about that now. Every time I think about talking to that detective, I get as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
“Victoria, are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m glad he got that straightened out about the in-patient. Once again he’s overcome my mistake.” Then to prove she had recovered from being spoken to like that, she said, “Let’s get our meeting with Detective Kent over with. I’m as nervous as a whore in church.”
“That never made me nervous,” Tara answered.
Five
C ontinuation of statement by Leigh Reed. An hour later the Tiara detectives, heretofore described as untrained, ill-equipped and incompetent, walked into Detective Kent’s office in Lawrenceville, the county seat. We wore pant suits. Mine was khaki, Victoria’s was cream colored linen, and Tara’s was dark brown silk.
“Ladies.” He led us down the hall to a conference room. The chairs were aluminum with vinyl covered seats, the table was made of pressed wood, and the
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