Read Online Death of a Domestic Diva by Sharon Short - Free Book Online Page B

T-shirt and black leggings. As usual, her bluish-white hair was teased up so high that if she wanted to take a drive somewhere later on, she’d need an extra airbag just for the hairdo. And as usual, her voice was a gravely bass, made so from about 50 of her 60 years being spent smoking.
    I could have hugged her, just for being her usual self.
    Sandy said, “Lord, child, you’re a sight. You okay?”
    I grinned. Sandy, as usual, was blunt to the point of rude. What a relief. I’d have cried like a baby if she’d been nice.
    â€œI’m tired—trouble sleeping. I just need my usual.” Then I took a nice, long sip of my regular, plain, black coffee.
    Sandy stared at me for a long moment, then shrugged. A few minutes later, she was back with my usual Monday morning breakfast: one biscuit, split open, smothered in sausage gravy. And a glass of cranberry juice. I applied ample salt and pepper to my biscuits-and-gravy, then happily set to eating. Away from Owen and Winnie, at least, life in Paradise was still normal.
    I was about half way through my breakfast when the bell on the front door tinkled. Just one of the other regulars at Sandy’s, I thought happily, coming in for breakfast—as usual.
    But then Cherry sat down on the stool next to me and said, “Oh, Josie, I am just so thrilled to see you! Have I ever worked up an extra special treat for you!”
    I jumped, sloshing some cranberry juice on the cloth placemat. I waved at Sandy—I needed some club soda to dab on the place mat or getting the stain out when I did the restaurant’s laundry on Thursday was going to be difficult.
    Then I looked over at Cherry. “What do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œJosie, honey, I just walked by your laundromat. Winnie and Owen told me the good news about Tyra Grimes being here! So, you just finish up your breakfast, because it is time for your makeover! Hair cut, coloring, perm, a facial. . . ooh, it’ll be so much fun! I’ve always wanted to do a celebrity!”
    So much for life being normal. Tyra Grimes celebrity fever—apparently more infectious than mad cow disease—had already spread from Owen and Winnie to Cherry. The rest of the town couldn’t be far behind.
    I said, “I don’t want a makeover.”
    â€œYou may not want one, but, honey, you sure need one. You’re going on national TV, remember?”
    I remembered. My stomach clumped back into a peanut-shaped—and now gravy-soaked—knot.
    â€œNo need for me to change how I look for one little TV spot. All I have to do is share my stain expertise. No one will care about how I look, because they’ll just want to hear what I know.”
    Sandy came over and I asked for the club soda. She obliged, and I started dabbing it onto the place mat.
    Meanwhile, Cherry was saying, “Please, Josie? You’ve got to let me redo you. If Tyra Grimes sees what a wonder I’ve wrought with you, then maybe she’ll put me in touch with the right people in Hollywood and I can go do hair there. That’s my big dream, you know.” I knew. Everyone knew. She’d been telling everyone about it since she was in third grade—but she’d never traveled any farther west than Indianapolis.
    I kept dabbing at the place mat, not quite able to bring myself to look at Cherry. “Now, Cherry—”
    â€œAnd, honey, we’ve got to get you some new clothes. You can’t be running around in your jammies, for pity’s sake.”
    Oh Lord—I still had on a robe and Tweety Bird nightshirt and slippers. With all that was going on, I’d forgotten about how I was dressed. No wonder Sandy had looked at me so funny.
    Cherry took my silence for interest. “Okay—we’ll need ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures . . .” she whipped out a camera from her purse. The flash went off in my eyes. “You blinked!”
    I couldn’t see