Read Online Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel by Nike N. Chillemi - Free Book Online Page A

girlish figure isn't exactly bridal." She chuckled.
    "In this day and age, your condition doesn't mean a thing as far as brides go. And that's not a bad idea. Keep wearing that rock your husband gave you, but put the band in your wallet. Stop in Cassidy Bridal Couture on your way back from the senior center. Insist on dealing solely with Miss Cassidy. Get a take on her demeanor and anything else of note." My stomach approached sour every time I thought of that harridan.
    "Okay, boss. I'll put that on my ever increasin' to-do list."
    I laughed. "Make sure you look at white dresses."
    Then it was down the long corridor to see the sheriff. Time to lay out everything we had, or didn't have. Technically, the Abilene PD's rookie was still lead on the case. Trouble was I had what the rookie probably had... not much.

Chapter Ten
     
     
    South Abilene
    Day Six, Late Morning
    Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
     
    "Bertha, I'm so glad your girlfriend could cover lunch for you again. I promise to get you back for the dinner shift. And, I'm no moocher, I'll return the favor. I'll do your lunch shift tomorrow."
    "Aw, honey, you don't have to work for me. I'm glad to help you out."
    I pulled the driver's visor down, flipped the mirror open, and checked my look. The brown wig flipped under at my shoulders into a pageboy. I hoped I could keep it straight on my head. It wasn't a perfect fit. I'd used an eyebrow pencil to draw a mole over my left upper-lip large enough to be seen half a mile away. In addition, I'd picked up a gaudy sapphire ring surrounded by fake diamond chips and donned a pair of glitzy rhinestone, oversized-framed sunglasses. Multicolored crystal earrings dangled practically to my shoulders. The store had called them candy-toned jewels.
    I slid out of the car and tugged on the hem of the indigo kimono top I took everywhere, in case I needed a more put-together look. "Ready?"
    "Honey, she might wonder what in the world is walkin' into her store, but she'll never guess it's you behind that getup."
    "You don't think she'll be jealous of my totally tasteful look?" I twirled in the parking lot.
    "I'm not real sure about the jealous part." Bertha giggled.
    I gave the wig a few tiny pats, as glamour girls do, and it slipped to one side. I quickly righted it. "Okay, let's do this."
    Inside the store, I flitted from one display to the next, rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet, not knowing what to do with my hands. And who could've guessed there were so many shades of white?
    Thankfully, Cassidy was distracted, helping a pregnant customer attach a voluminous wedding headdress with a veil to her strawberry blond hair.
    Bertha came up beside me, took a gown off the rack and held it up in front of us, then lowered her voice and jutted her head toward the pregnant, prospective bride. "Bless her heart. Looks like west Texas is catchin' up with this day 'n age. She's gonna wear white. It wasn't long ago in Arroyo, they hurried up the weddin' before the gal showed. If she was big, like that, they'd have the ceremony real quiet-like, in the pastor's office."
    I glared at Cassidy. "If big hair's the indicator, I'd say some are still back in the nineties on a pageant runway."
    "Be nice, hon. You're better than that."
    I folded my arms across my chest and pouted. "No, Bertha, you're better than that."
    A seamstress with a pincushion fastened to her wrist as a corsage would be and a cloth tape measure around her neck, careened around the back counter. She waved a telephone message slip. "Cassidy, Stanley Fishburn wants you to call..." She slowed to a walk and pushed a mass of coppery curls off her face. "Oh, didn't realize you had customers." She turned on her spiked heel and retreated into the back.
    When the pregnant customer turned around and lifted the veil off her face, Bertha pulled me down to a squatting position behind the rack of gowns. "That ain't no bride. That's Deputy Dixie Watts... works for Dawson Hughes... lives in Arroyo