Read Online Owls Well That Ends Well by Donna Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Andrews
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killer.
“I’m off duty, you know,” said a mellow baritone voice at my elbow.
“Chief Burke, thank—” I began, and then my mouth fell open. Apparently the chief had decided to take advantage of the costume discount—if not for the familiar voice, I’d never have recognized him. He wore a black leather coat, wraparound shades, and at least a foot of glossy Afro. Was he supposed to be Shaft, I wondered. I thought Shaft was bald, though, so I wasn’t sure who Chief Burke was impersonating, but he dwarfed the miniature Darth Vader who stood beside him, tugging on his hand.
“If you have a shoplifting problem, I can have one of the duty officers cruise by,” he said.
“It’s not a shoplifting problem,” I said. “It’s a murder problem. I thought you’d want to be the first to know.”
I’d spoken too loudly. I could hear gasps and whispers from the people in line, and several of them ran off, presumably to tell their friends.
“Lordy,” the chief said, shaking his head. “I wish I thought you were kidding. Frankie, you go find your Grandma and tell her she’ll have to find you some lunch. Grandpa has to work.”
Darth Vader nodded and scampered off.
“So where is this alleged murder?” the chief said.
I pointed to the trunk. He walked over, used his handkerchief to lift the lid, and peered in.
“That poor rascal!” he exclaimed.
“I see you know Gordon,” I said.
“Well, of course,” he said. “He’s had that eyesore of a shop on Main Street nearly fifteen years. I’m not surprised, really. Lord knows, no one deserves to be murdered, but if anyone could provoke Saint Peter himself into forgetting that fact, it would be Gordon.”
With that, he pulled out his cell phone. Calling the station for reinforcements, I hoped.
Michael returned.
“Your Dad’s got the barn under control,” he said.
“Great,” I said. “Now all we have to worry about is them,” I said, pointing to the crowd. The line snaking away from the checkout table was becoming obscured by the increasing numbers of people showing up to gawk, and they’d begun shoving the ropes inward, a few inches at a time. “If Chief Burke doesn’t get some officers here pretty soon for crowd control …”
“Don’t worry,” Michael said. “Also under control.” Just then the crowd parted, and Mother appeared, took up a position just inside the rope, and began issuing orders. Within two minutes, she had the ropes back to their original position and the crowd arranging itself in several rows, by height, so everyone would have the best possible view. Which might not be optimal in the chief’s eyes, but I thought it was an improvement over being trampled by curious onlookers while guarding the trunk.
But while the gawkers were happier, the shoppers had grown surly.
“Maybe I should start writing up people’s sales tickets while they’re waiting,” I said. I rummaged through the stuff on the checkout table for one of the little pads of sales receipts. “That’s what really takes time, and if they see things are moving—”
“I’ll do it,” Michael said, plucking the receipt pad from my hand. “I’ll round up some of our elusive volunteers to help. You stay here and help Chief Burke.”
He flagged Mrs. Fenniman and the cousin dressed as a white rabbit, and the three of them began working their way down the line. As soon as they started, I could see a decrease in the number of frowns and annoyed glances at wristwatches.
And not only was morale improving, but I figured that once people had their sales slips all neatly written up, they’d be less likely to change their minds and leave us stuck with the junk they’d picked up. The man carrying Mrs. Sprocket’s near life-sized reproduction of the Venus de Milo, for example. I really wanted to see that leave.
First things first. Murder trumped our yard sale, no question. I turned back to the chief. He had pulled off his wig and sunglasses and was struggling
“I’m off duty, you know,” said a mellow baritone voice at my elbow.
“Chief Burke, thank—” I began, and then my mouth fell open. Apparently the chief had decided to take advantage of the costume discount—if not for the familiar voice, I’d never have recognized him. He wore a black leather coat, wraparound shades, and at least a foot of glossy Afro. Was he supposed to be Shaft, I wondered. I thought Shaft was bald, though, so I wasn’t sure who Chief Burke was impersonating, but he dwarfed the miniature Darth Vader who stood beside him, tugging on his hand.
“If you have a shoplifting problem, I can have one of the duty officers cruise by,” he said.
“It’s not a shoplifting problem,” I said. “It’s a murder problem. I thought you’d want to be the first to know.”
I’d spoken too loudly. I could hear gasps and whispers from the people in line, and several of them ran off, presumably to tell their friends.
“Lordy,” the chief said, shaking his head. “I wish I thought you were kidding. Frankie, you go find your Grandma and tell her she’ll have to find you some lunch. Grandpa has to work.”
Darth Vader nodded and scampered off.
“So where is this alleged murder?” the chief said.
I pointed to the trunk. He walked over, used his handkerchief to lift the lid, and peered in.
“That poor rascal!” he exclaimed.
“I see you know Gordon,” I said.
“Well, of course,” he said. “He’s had that eyesore of a shop on Main Street nearly fifteen years. I’m not surprised, really. Lord knows, no one deserves to be murdered, but if anyone could provoke Saint Peter himself into forgetting that fact, it would be Gordon.”
With that, he pulled out his cell phone. Calling the station for reinforcements, I hoped.
Michael returned.
“Your Dad’s got the barn under control,” he said.
“Great,” I said. “Now all we have to worry about is them,” I said, pointing to the crowd. The line snaking away from the checkout table was becoming obscured by the increasing numbers of people showing up to gawk, and they’d begun shoving the ropes inward, a few inches at a time. “If Chief Burke doesn’t get some officers here pretty soon for crowd control …”
“Don’t worry,” Michael said. “Also under control.” Just then the crowd parted, and Mother appeared, took up a position just inside the rope, and began issuing orders. Within two minutes, she had the ropes back to their original position and the crowd arranging itself in several rows, by height, so everyone would have the best possible view. Which might not be optimal in the chief’s eyes, but I thought it was an improvement over being trampled by curious onlookers while guarding the trunk.
But while the gawkers were happier, the shoppers had grown surly.
“Maybe I should start writing up people’s sales tickets while they’re waiting,” I said. I rummaged through the stuff on the checkout table for one of the little pads of sales receipts. “That’s what really takes time, and if they see things are moving—”
“I’ll do it,” Michael said, plucking the receipt pad from my hand. “I’ll round up some of our elusive volunteers to help. You stay here and help Chief Burke.”
He flagged Mrs. Fenniman and the cousin dressed as a white rabbit, and the three of them began working their way down the line. As soon as they started, I could see a decrease in the number of frowns and annoyed glances at wristwatches.
And not only was morale improving, but I figured that once people had their sales slips all neatly written up, they’d be less likely to change their minds and leave us stuck with the junk they’d picked up. The man carrying Mrs. Sprocket’s near life-sized reproduction of the Venus de Milo, for example. I really wanted to see that leave.
First things first. Murder trumped our yard sale, no question. I turned back to the chief. He had pulled off his wig and sunglasses and was struggling
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