Read Online Murder Shoots the Bull by Anne George - Free Book Online Page B

okay, isn’t she?”
    “Mitzi’s okay.” I stuck the souffle back in the microwave. “Just upset.”
    “Who did it?” Lisa still hadn’t picked up her sandwich.
    “Maybe nobody, I still think it might have been the peanuts. That’s what it looked like, a bad allergic reaction.” I set the timer.
    “Let’s don’t talk about this while we’re eating. Mama always said not to talk about religion, politics, or murder while you’re eating.” Sister took another bite of her sandwich.
    “Mama never said a word about murder.” The microwave dinged and I took the casserole out.
    Mary Alice nodded that yes, she had.
    But Lisa ignored her. “Well, poison’s a pretty effective way. Probably better than a gun. You remember when President Reagan was shot? The bullet bounced off a rib. That was what saved him.”
    Mary Alice put her sandwich down. “Coralee Gibbons, you say? That’s an old-fashioned name.”
    It worked. Lisa changed subjects in a flash.
    “I know. It sounds like someone’s grandmother. She may be for all I know. God knows she’s old enough.”
    I picked up the casserole, told them I would be back in a few minutes, and walked across the yard.
    “How’re you doing?” I asked when Mitzi answered the back door.
    “Okay, I guess.”
    She didn’t look okay. She looked exhausted. I held out the casserole.
    “Thanks, Patricia Anne. I haven’t even thought about food. Come on in.”
    “I can’t. Mary Alice and Lisa are here.”
    “Alan’s Lisa?”
    “There may be a little trouble in paradise.”
    “Oh, Patricia Anne, I’m sorry.”
    “They’ll work it out.”
    “Sure they will.”
    “Is Arthur okay?”
    “I think so. He found out that Sophie wanted to be cremated. She wants her ashes sprinkled from the observation tower at Vulcan.”
    “From Vulcan? Is that legal?”
    “I don’t know. He’s trying to find out.”
    “Well, let me know if there’s anything we can do to help.”
    “I will.”
    I walked back to my own kitchen. When I came in the door, Mary Alice was telling Lisa about Cedric, the Englishman.
    “Pencil-thin mustache, pencil-thin fingers. And you know what that means.”
    Lisa was actually laughing. “Aunt Sister. You didn’t!”
    “Of course not. He even had little bitty ears.” She paused. “But he was real nice. Talked a lot about Dunkirk.”
    “What’s Dunkirk?” Lisa wanted to know.

Seven
    I f Fred had thought he was coming home for a quiet evening of supper and watching the Braves, he quickly found out he was wrong.
    “I’m taking Woofer for his walk,” I told Lisa.
    “Okay.” She looked up from the sofa where she was reading the new Vanity Fair . Muffin was stretched out beside her. “If the phone rings, I’m going to let the machine answer. It might be Alan.”
    And she ought to talk to him, I thought. But I didn’t say anything. I put Woofer’s leash on him and we walked to the corner to wait for Fred. When I saw the car, I waved him down.
    “What’s the matter?” he asked, as I opened the back door, shoved Woofer in, and then got in the front seat.
    “Lisa’s at our house, and I need to talk to you.”
    “What’s Lisa doing here?”
    “Drive and I’ll tell you.”
    He drove. Woofer leaned his head over the seat and slobbered happily. I reached in my pocket for a Kleenex.
    “We’d better go to the park,” Fred said. “What’s going on?”
    “She and Alan are having trouble.”
    “What kind of trouble?”
    “Woman trouble.”
    “Alan?” Fred looked at me in disbelief.
    “That’s what she says. Some woman in Alan’s office named Coralee Gibbons. In her forties with grown children.”
    We had stopped at a four-way stop. Fred waved the man on our left to go ahead. “You were here first, buddy.” Then to me, “Have you talked to Alan?”
    “No. Debbie tried to call him. Lisa went to Debbie’s first. But she couldn’t get him and then she had to go to court so she left word for him to call us, that Lisa was at our