Read Online Mother's Day Murder by Leslie Meier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leslie Meier
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with an industrial-strength rubber band. “Thanks so much,” she said, giving him a big smile.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you,” he said, smiling back. “You really brighten my morning.”
Phyllis simpered and batted her eyelashes. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said.
“No, not at all,” said Wilf, taking a deep breath and plunging in. “You’re special, Phyllis. What say we get together for a bite after work?”
“That would be lovely,” said Phyllis, with a big smile. “What time?”
“I’ll come by your house at six. Is that okay?”
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” she replied, with a twinkle in her eye.
Lucy was amazed. “Since when have you been sweet on Wilf?” she asked when he had gone.
“I’ve had my eye on him for a while,” said Phyllis, sorting through the letters. “His wife died about six months ago, and he gave her such a beautiful funeral—the casket was covered with tons and tons of pale pink roses—and at the time I thought he must be a real romantic at heart.”
Lucy remembered how Wilf had come to her rescue years ago, when she was new to town and the lights had gone out in their house. Wilf had gone down into the cellar and fixed the problem. “There is something of the knight in shining armor about him,” said Lucy.
“Exactly,” said Phyllis, handing her a press release accompanied by a photo. “Lookee here. This is one lady who doesn’t look like she needs a knight to rescue her.”
It was a photo of Bar Hume, dressed in shooting gear, complete with goggles and ear protectors and an ammo vest, pointing a handgun at a target in the shape of a person. A cluster of holes indicated that if the target had been an actual person, it would be a very dead person, having been shot in the heart numerous times.
“Goodness,” said Lucy, wondering if Bar had imagined the target was Tina Nowak, just as she’d said at the brunch. “It says here she’s been chosen Gun Woman of the Year by the Maine Gun and Rifle Association.”
“Well, goody for her,” said Phyllis, taking a good look at the photo. “All I’ve got to say is it’s a good thing she’s married, because that getup is not the sort of thing men find attractive.”
Lucy considered. “I dunno. Bart seems pretty keen on her. Maybe he has a thing for women in goggles.”
“Goggles, a big maybe. Guns, no. Absolutely not. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t think there’s a place for guns in a romantic relationship. Roses, yes. Chocolates, yes. Champagne, yes. Guns, no.”
“I think that’s good advice. If everybody followed it, we’d have a lot less domestic violence to report in the paper.”
“What’s this?” demanded Ted, who had yanked the door open and set the little bell jangling. He was practically salivating. “A tragic domestic assault?”
“Not yet,” said Lucy, showing him the photo. “But I think we should all keep our heads down now that we have the Gun Woman of the Year living right here in town.”
Ted grimaced, studying the photo. “Better be careful what you write about her in that story,” he warned Lucy. “Meanwhile, I’ll put in an order for that body armor you requested.”
“It won’t be necessary,” said Lucy, waving the press release at him. “It says right here that Bar ‘exemplifies the highest standards of gun safety and responsible gun ownership, while exercising her constitutional right to bear arms to defend herself, her family, and her country.’”
“I’m sure she does,” said Ted, “but I’m not going to go knocking on her door at night, that’s for sure.”
“I guess that’s the point,” said Lucy, who was on the second page of the press release. “She’s letting everyone know she’s no helpless victim like poor Corinne. She’s even planning to teach a self-defense class for women in the adult ed program.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Ted, seating himself at his desk and switching on his computer.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you,” he said, smiling back. “You really brighten my morning.”
Phyllis simpered and batted her eyelashes. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said.
“No, not at all,” said Wilf, taking a deep breath and plunging in. “You’re special, Phyllis. What say we get together for a bite after work?”
“That would be lovely,” said Phyllis, with a big smile. “What time?”
“I’ll come by your house at six. Is that okay?”
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” she replied, with a twinkle in her eye.
Lucy was amazed. “Since when have you been sweet on Wilf?” she asked when he had gone.
“I’ve had my eye on him for a while,” said Phyllis, sorting through the letters. “His wife died about six months ago, and he gave her such a beautiful funeral—the casket was covered with tons and tons of pale pink roses—and at the time I thought he must be a real romantic at heart.”
Lucy remembered how Wilf had come to her rescue years ago, when she was new to town and the lights had gone out in their house. Wilf had gone down into the cellar and fixed the problem. “There is something of the knight in shining armor about him,” said Lucy.
“Exactly,” said Phyllis, handing her a press release accompanied by a photo. “Lookee here. This is one lady who doesn’t look like she needs a knight to rescue her.”
It was a photo of Bar Hume, dressed in shooting gear, complete with goggles and ear protectors and an ammo vest, pointing a handgun at a target in the shape of a person. A cluster of holes indicated that if the target had been an actual person, it would be a very dead person, having been shot in the heart numerous times.
“Goodness,” said Lucy, wondering if Bar had imagined the target was Tina Nowak, just as she’d said at the brunch. “It says here she’s been chosen Gun Woman of the Year by the Maine Gun and Rifle Association.”
“Well, goody for her,” said Phyllis, taking a good look at the photo. “All I’ve got to say is it’s a good thing she’s married, because that getup is not the sort of thing men find attractive.”
Lucy considered. “I dunno. Bart seems pretty keen on her. Maybe he has a thing for women in goggles.”
“Goggles, a big maybe. Guns, no. Absolutely not. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t think there’s a place for guns in a romantic relationship. Roses, yes. Chocolates, yes. Champagne, yes. Guns, no.”
“I think that’s good advice. If everybody followed it, we’d have a lot less domestic violence to report in the paper.”
“What’s this?” demanded Ted, who had yanked the door open and set the little bell jangling. He was practically salivating. “A tragic domestic assault?”
“Not yet,” said Lucy, showing him the photo. “But I think we should all keep our heads down now that we have the Gun Woman of the Year living right here in town.”
Ted grimaced, studying the photo. “Better be careful what you write about her in that story,” he warned Lucy. “Meanwhile, I’ll put in an order for that body armor you requested.”
“It won’t be necessary,” said Lucy, waving the press release at him. “It says right here that Bar ‘exemplifies the highest standards of gun safety and responsible gun ownership, while exercising her constitutional right to bear arms to defend herself, her family, and her country.’”
“I’m sure she does,” said Ted, “but I’m not going to go knocking on her door at night, that’s for sure.”
“I guess that’s the point,” said Lucy, who was on the second page of the press release. “She’s letting everyone know she’s no helpless victim like poor Corinne. She’s even planning to teach a self-defense class for women in the adult ed program.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Ted, seating himself at his desk and switching on his computer.
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