she asked again.
“Of course she is!” Patti answered for me. “I believe her.”
“What’s the next step?” I asked Hunter.
He shook his head and since I was feeling extra sensitive at the moment, I took that as a sign that he didn’t have the same faith in me that Patti did. “Without evidence of a body, a struggle, or a weapon,” he said, “we wait and see what happens next.”
“Let’s drive around some more,” Patti suggested.
“Do I have to?” I said. “I’m exhausted.”
“You promised, you know. The night’s young. Want to come with us, Holly?”
“Sure,” Holly said. “Where are we going?”
I glanced at Hunter. He gave me a wide grin and told Holly exactly where we were going without even being informed. “You’re going looking for trouble,” he said.
Patti pulled down the visor of her ball cap, getting into sleuthing mode.
“Where are you going to start?” Hunter asked, amusement playing across his face.
“Stu’s Bar and Grill, where else?” I answered, looking down the street and seeing that the bar was still packed. “Want to come along?”
“No men,” Patti said. “This is a female mission all the way. Sorry, Hunter.”
Hunter laughed. “But I could be useful. I have weapons.”
“But you have to pay attention to a lot more rules than we have to,” Patti said. “Besides, we have our own means and methods.”
“What does that mean?” he asked her.
“Never mind,” I said, shushing her.
“Call me if you need me,” Hunter said to me in a low voice, giving me a few hot and sexy thoughts regarding his offer.
I smiled and kept them to myself.
Eight
After Hunter and Ben took off, Holly, Patti, and I made a beeline for the bar. A fact or two about beelines, which, believe it or not, really
do
exist:
• A foraging honeybee leaves the hive first thing in the morning as soon as the air temperature is just right.
• She (the boys don’t work at all) does little circles to warm up, just like we do before exercising.
• While she’s warming up, she’s also getting her bearings.
• Once her muscles are nice and loose, she flies up in the air, gaining altitude like any good pilot.
• Then she takes off, fast and straight, on a direct flight.
• Other foraging bees will follow her path.
• After flitting from flower to flower, loading up with pollen and nectar, she and her fellow workers make a beeline home.
Which is what I should have done.
Made a beeline home.
Straight as an arrow—straight as the crow flies, Grams likes to say—to my warm, cozy home.
Because I’d temporarily forgotten about my close encounter with our police chief.
But not only did Stu’s nosy customers remember the exchange with crystal clarity, they were deeper into their pitchers of Wisconsin microbrewskis and had a few good jokes at my expense.
“Story danced like nobody was watching,” one wiseacre said. “Court date pending.”
“Was she naked?” another one wanted to know.
“’Course she was.”
That’s how stupid rumors get started in this town—drunks in bars, making stuff up. By the next morning all that nonsense could be on the streets and nobody would remember who started it.
They weren’t done yet, either. Stanley Peck was sitting with a bunch of old guys and joined in. “Johnny Jay caught her drinking battery acid and he
charged
her. Get it? Battery. Charged.”
“Good one,” I said, laughing along since I knew everybody at his table, and most of them were just out to have fun.
But there’s always one bad apple in the bunch. Or in this case, two rotten ones.
“Story Fischer has a real problem with authority,” I heard from a corner. Lori Spandle and her sister DeeDee Becker sat behind beer glasses and some sort of hip-spreading cheesy appetizer that I hoped was working its fat magic on them both at this very moment. DeeDee stillwore the Honey Queen crown on top of her head. “And she has an attention issue,” Lori said good and
“Of course she is!” Patti answered for me. “I believe her.”
“What’s the next step?” I asked Hunter.
He shook his head and since I was feeling extra sensitive at the moment, I took that as a sign that he didn’t have the same faith in me that Patti did. “Without evidence of a body, a struggle, or a weapon,” he said, “we wait and see what happens next.”
“Let’s drive around some more,” Patti suggested.
“Do I have to?” I said. “I’m exhausted.”
“You promised, you know. The night’s young. Want to come with us, Holly?”
“Sure,” Holly said. “Where are we going?”
I glanced at Hunter. He gave me a wide grin and told Holly exactly where we were going without even being informed. “You’re going looking for trouble,” he said.
Patti pulled down the visor of her ball cap, getting into sleuthing mode.
“Where are you going to start?” Hunter asked, amusement playing across his face.
“Stu’s Bar and Grill, where else?” I answered, looking down the street and seeing that the bar was still packed. “Want to come along?”
“No men,” Patti said. “This is a female mission all the way. Sorry, Hunter.”
Hunter laughed. “But I could be useful. I have weapons.”
“But you have to pay attention to a lot more rules than we have to,” Patti said. “Besides, we have our own means and methods.”
“What does that mean?” he asked her.
“Never mind,” I said, shushing her.
“Call me if you need me,” Hunter said to me in a low voice, giving me a few hot and sexy thoughts regarding his offer.
I smiled and kept them to myself.
Eight
After Hunter and Ben took off, Holly, Patti, and I made a beeline for the bar. A fact or two about beelines, which, believe it or not, really
do
exist:
• A foraging honeybee leaves the hive first thing in the morning as soon as the air temperature is just right.
• She (the boys don’t work at all) does little circles to warm up, just like we do before exercising.
• While she’s warming up, she’s also getting her bearings.
• Once her muscles are nice and loose, she flies up in the air, gaining altitude like any good pilot.
• Then she takes off, fast and straight, on a direct flight.
• Other foraging bees will follow her path.
• After flitting from flower to flower, loading up with pollen and nectar, she and her fellow workers make a beeline home.
Which is what I should have done.
Made a beeline home.
Straight as an arrow—straight as the crow flies, Grams likes to say—to my warm, cozy home.
Because I’d temporarily forgotten about my close encounter with our police chief.
But not only did Stu’s nosy customers remember the exchange with crystal clarity, they were deeper into their pitchers of Wisconsin microbrewskis and had a few good jokes at my expense.
“Story danced like nobody was watching,” one wiseacre said. “Court date pending.”
“Was she naked?” another one wanted to know.
“’Course she was.”
That’s how stupid rumors get started in this town—drunks in bars, making stuff up. By the next morning all that nonsense could be on the streets and nobody would remember who started it.
They weren’t done yet, either. Stanley Peck was sitting with a bunch of old guys and joined in. “Johnny Jay caught her drinking battery acid and he
charged
her. Get it? Battery. Charged.”
“Good one,” I said, laughing along since I knew everybody at his table, and most of them were just out to have fun.
But there’s always one bad apple in the bunch. Or in this case, two rotten ones.
“Story Fischer has a real problem with authority,” I heard from a corner. Lori Spandle and her sister DeeDee Becker sat behind beer glasses and some sort of hip-spreading cheesy appetizer that I hoped was working its fat magic on them both at this very moment. DeeDee stillwore the Honey Queen crown on top of her head. “And she has an attention issue,” Lori said good and
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