Read Online Murdermobile (Portland Bookmobile Mysteries) by B.B. Cantwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: B.B. Cantwell
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I quote:
‘Oh, Travis? While you’re doing
the grocery shopping, will you get me a box of tampons?’
‘Sure, honey, regular or heavy
flow?’ ”
Marge exaggeratedly suppressed a
shudder. “This has NO PLACE in anyone’s home. This has NO PLACE in anyone’s
library. Teri June has passed all sense of normalcy with this kind of trash.
Trash should be BURNT and Teri June should be...”
Karen could no longer contain
herself. She flung her overstuffed figure out of her chair and knocked over two
empty seats in front of her. Heads whirling in response to the clatter, the
assemblage watched Karen march up the aisle and take the microphone away from
Marge Kenyon.
Hester sat in a frozen daze.
“I...I just can’t listen to... to
any more of these lies!” Karen’s voice trembled with emotion. “I am proud to say
that I am – I am a personal friend of Teri June!”
The audience gasped. An amazed
Hester glanced around self-consciously to see if she could make an unobtrusive
exit. Karen, shaking, forged on.
“It’s true! She has a husband and
three wonderful girls. And what she writes about, well, what she writes about
is life . As it is. Not the way some may want it.”
Karen turned to Marge and
condescendingly patted her shoulder. “Have a seat, dearie,” she said with a
push. Marge Kenyon, having never been so deftly outmaneuvered, slowly took her
seat.
Clearing her throat, Karen told
the visibly outraged audience, “Burning Teri June books won’t make the world
right. Sara Duffy was a librarian, honor her memory. Don’t you think she’d like
you to buy books, not burn them?”
An angry buzz began to spread
through the seated group. Marge Kenyon rose again and advanced with a menacing
frown.
Karen looked at Marge, took in
the faces of the crowd, and then dashed for the back of the hall. Hester
quickly eased from her hard metal seat.Side-stepping down the skinny
row of chairs and toward the exit, she turned to pass the man in the aisle
seat. Ducking to shield her face, she felt herself suddenly jerked to a halt as
wispy strands of her beard brushed his shirt front. Looking down, Hester was
horrified to see her beard caught in the man’s tie pin, a small golden
sailboat.
“Take me now, Lord,” Hester
prayed silently.
She tugged quickly at the mess in
the tie pin and painfully ripped spirit gum from her face. As the man struggled
to steady her, Hester inhaled a strong waft of bay rum. Half-bearded, she
finally looked up directly into the cool eyes of Detective Nate Darrow.
He looked vaguely puzzled, then
winked, his face a study in poker-table control. Hester’s cheeks flushed to
match the red of the hair stuffed under her Fedora.
Dropping her head again, Hester
turned, grabbed Karen by the wrist and yanked her from the ballroom.
Chapter Eleven
Jitters Coffee Co., Portland’s
local rival to Seattle’s snooty purveyors of caffeine, had long been Hester and
Karen’s chosen refuge when it came time to commiserate, complain or generally
analyze the world’s woes.
Hester wasn’t really sure “cozy”
would ever apply to Jitters’ new Northwest neighborhood cafe, with its bare
steel beams and industrial-modern interior. But the individuality appealed to
her more than the sameness of the Starbucks across the street, whose clones she
had seen in San Diego, Sacramento and Boise.
Besides, the goateed barista
behind the granite counter brewed a Black Ocelot espresso that made your ears
waggle.
“Here’s your drug of choice, my
dear,” Hester said, plopping a tiny, froth-topped cup in front of Karen, then
plopping into one of the sculpted, white-maple chairs that were surprisingly
comfortable for all their modern design.
In Karen’s car, a painful tug and
a quick rub with some cold-cream had defoliated Hester’s chin and removed most
of the spirit gum. She’d ditched the hat and substituted her own coat for the
red-checked nightmare, which offered little protection against a cold wind
‘Oh, Travis? While you’re doing
the grocery shopping, will you get me a box of tampons?’
‘Sure, honey, regular or heavy
flow?’ ”
Marge exaggeratedly suppressed a
shudder. “This has NO PLACE in anyone’s home. This has NO PLACE in anyone’s
library. Teri June has passed all sense of normalcy with this kind of trash.
Trash should be BURNT and Teri June should be...”
Karen could no longer contain
herself. She flung her overstuffed figure out of her chair and knocked over two
empty seats in front of her. Heads whirling in response to the clatter, the
assemblage watched Karen march up the aisle and take the microphone away from
Marge Kenyon.
Hester sat in a frozen daze.
“I...I just can’t listen to... to
any more of these lies!” Karen’s voice trembled with emotion. “I am proud to say
that I am – I am a personal friend of Teri June!”
The audience gasped. An amazed
Hester glanced around self-consciously to see if she could make an unobtrusive
exit. Karen, shaking, forged on.
“It’s true! She has a husband and
three wonderful girls. And what she writes about, well, what she writes about
is life . As it is. Not the way some may want it.”
Karen turned to Marge and
condescendingly patted her shoulder. “Have a seat, dearie,” she said with a
push. Marge Kenyon, having never been so deftly outmaneuvered, slowly took her
seat.
Clearing her throat, Karen told
the visibly outraged audience, “Burning Teri June books won’t make the world
right. Sara Duffy was a librarian, honor her memory. Don’t you think she’d like
you to buy books, not burn them?”
An angry buzz began to spread
through the seated group. Marge Kenyon rose again and advanced with a menacing
frown.
Karen looked at Marge, took in
the faces of the crowd, and then dashed for the back of the hall. Hester
quickly eased from her hard metal seat.Side-stepping down the skinny
row of chairs and toward the exit, she turned to pass the man in the aisle
seat. Ducking to shield her face, she felt herself suddenly jerked to a halt as
wispy strands of her beard brushed his shirt front. Looking down, Hester was
horrified to see her beard caught in the man’s tie pin, a small golden
sailboat.
“Take me now, Lord,” Hester
prayed silently.
She tugged quickly at the mess in
the tie pin and painfully ripped spirit gum from her face. As the man struggled
to steady her, Hester inhaled a strong waft of bay rum. Half-bearded, she
finally looked up directly into the cool eyes of Detective Nate Darrow.
He looked vaguely puzzled, then
winked, his face a study in poker-table control. Hester’s cheeks flushed to
match the red of the hair stuffed under her Fedora.
Dropping her head again, Hester
turned, grabbed Karen by the wrist and yanked her from the ballroom.
Chapter Eleven
Jitters Coffee Co., Portland’s
local rival to Seattle’s snooty purveyors of caffeine, had long been Hester and
Karen’s chosen refuge when it came time to commiserate, complain or generally
analyze the world’s woes.
Hester wasn’t really sure “cozy”
would ever apply to Jitters’ new Northwest neighborhood cafe, with its bare
steel beams and industrial-modern interior. But the individuality appealed to
her more than the sameness of the Starbucks across the street, whose clones she
had seen in San Diego, Sacramento and Boise.
Besides, the goateed barista
behind the granite counter brewed a Black Ocelot espresso that made your ears
waggle.
“Here’s your drug of choice, my
dear,” Hester said, plopping a tiny, froth-topped cup in front of Karen, then
plopping into one of the sculpted, white-maple chairs that were surprisingly
comfortable for all their modern design.
In Karen’s car, a painful tug and
a quick rub with some cold-cream had defoliated Hester’s chin and removed most
of the spirit gum. She’d ditched the hat and substituted her own coat for the
red-checked nightmare, which offered little protection against a cold wind
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