loud. “That’s why she makes up all those stupid lies. Now she’s trying to ruin our festival by making all kinds of noise to get attention! A body in the cemetery? How lame is that?”
I should probably point out that most of Moraine’s residents really like me. And I like them. But it’s impossible to live in a small town, especially one you’ve grown up in, without having a few enemies. Lori Spandle and Johnny Jay are downright blatant in their dislike for me. And the feeling is mutual. Of course, there are some other people I barely tolerate and who barely tolerate me, but for the most part, we have some really special people in our community.
I’m long past the stage, though, where I try to please everybody and want everyone to like me. It just isn’t going to happen. But I had to wonder why Lori was baiting me, trying to start something in front of everybody.
“Ignore Lori,” Holly said to the roomful of people, coming to my aid like a sister should. “She’s had too much to drink. Again.”
“Why, you…” Lori started.
Stu, over behind the bar, cranked up the bar’s piped music and that was the end of the public face-off between Lori and me. I was pretty sure I’d lost.
God, that woman irritates me! I marched over for a private showdown. “Since when do you have the authority to rent out Clay’s house?” I demanded.
“Since he gave it to me.” Lori grinned. “Why, don’t you like Ford?”
“Did you check his references?”
“He checked out.”
“Of which mental health facility?” I wanted to know.
DeeDee didn’t say a word, hardly making any eye contact at all. She sipped her beer and kept her head down, as well she should after stealing the Honey Queen title. Firstshe raids my store’s shelves, then she runs off with the crown that should have been mine.
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
Holly and Patti came rushing over before I could get any farther. They each grabbed one of my arms and carted me away to a table in the opposite corner.
“What we have to concentrate on,” Patti said firmly, digging a notepad out of one of her pockets, “is the missing person. I’m going to write down the names of every man in this bar. That’s a starting point. At least then we can eliminate those guys from our search.”
Since Patti was a relatively recent newcomer to Moraine, moving here just before I came back almost three years ago, she didn’t know as many people as Holly and I did, so we helped her out with names.
“What if the missing person is from out of town?” Holly asked.
“It’s possible,” Patti said, still making notes. “But I’m an investigative reporter and that means I cover all the bases, starting with what I know. And right now what I know is that a whole lot of people in this bar aren’t dead or unconscious.”
“Lori Spandle’s unconscious,” I offered, doing a little wishful thinking.
“She’s the walking dead,” Holly agreed.
“Lori doesn’t count,” Patti said.
Stu called out for our orders and we all asked for beer and brats (short for bratwursts, Wisconsin’s special soul food). I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now. Our three foaming beers arrived along with our brats, loaded up with onions, sauerkraut, and mustard, and nestled in brat buns, not to be confused with hot dog buns, which are a completely different thing and not at all qualified as an acceptable substitute. We dug in.
“Don’t let Lori engage you anymore,” Holly said, whilewe ate. “I’ve been reading up, and people like that want you to get mad. You played right into her hands.”
“Since when did you become Doctor Freud?” I asked.
“Mock me all you want,” my sister said. “But the human mind is interesting stuff. I like learning about it.”
Just then, Mom walked in the door. I almost choked on my brat, because she wasn’t the type to hang out at Stu’s. Yet here she was, on a Saturday night, out on the town. She was wearing a blue dress,
I should probably point out that most of Moraine’s residents really like me. And I like them. But it’s impossible to live in a small town, especially one you’ve grown up in, without having a few enemies. Lori Spandle and Johnny Jay are downright blatant in their dislike for me. And the feeling is mutual. Of course, there are some other people I barely tolerate and who barely tolerate me, but for the most part, we have some really special people in our community.
I’m long past the stage, though, where I try to please everybody and want everyone to like me. It just isn’t going to happen. But I had to wonder why Lori was baiting me, trying to start something in front of everybody.
“Ignore Lori,” Holly said to the roomful of people, coming to my aid like a sister should. “She’s had too much to drink. Again.”
“Why, you…” Lori started.
Stu, over behind the bar, cranked up the bar’s piped music and that was the end of the public face-off between Lori and me. I was pretty sure I’d lost.
God, that woman irritates me! I marched over for a private showdown. “Since when do you have the authority to rent out Clay’s house?” I demanded.
“Since he gave it to me.” Lori grinned. “Why, don’t you like Ford?”
“Did you check his references?”
“He checked out.”
“Of which mental health facility?” I wanted to know.
DeeDee didn’t say a word, hardly making any eye contact at all. She sipped her beer and kept her head down, as well she should after stealing the Honey Queen title. Firstshe raids my store’s shelves, then she runs off with the crown that should have been mine.
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
Holly and Patti came rushing over before I could get any farther. They each grabbed one of my arms and carted me away to a table in the opposite corner.
“What we have to concentrate on,” Patti said firmly, digging a notepad out of one of her pockets, “is the missing person. I’m going to write down the names of every man in this bar. That’s a starting point. At least then we can eliminate those guys from our search.”
Since Patti was a relatively recent newcomer to Moraine, moving here just before I came back almost three years ago, she didn’t know as many people as Holly and I did, so we helped her out with names.
“What if the missing person is from out of town?” Holly asked.
“It’s possible,” Patti said, still making notes. “But I’m an investigative reporter and that means I cover all the bases, starting with what I know. And right now what I know is that a whole lot of people in this bar aren’t dead or unconscious.”
“Lori Spandle’s unconscious,” I offered, doing a little wishful thinking.
“She’s the walking dead,” Holly agreed.
“Lori doesn’t count,” Patti said.
Stu called out for our orders and we all asked for beer and brats (short for bratwursts, Wisconsin’s special soul food). I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now. Our three foaming beers arrived along with our brats, loaded up with onions, sauerkraut, and mustard, and nestled in brat buns, not to be confused with hot dog buns, which are a completely different thing and not at all qualified as an acceptable substitute. We dug in.
“Don’t let Lori engage you anymore,” Holly said, whilewe ate. “I’ve been reading up, and people like that want you to get mad. You played right into her hands.”
“Since when did you become Doctor Freud?” I asked.
“Mock me all you want,” my sister said. “But the human mind is interesting stuff. I like learning about it.”
Just then, Mom walked in the door. I almost choked on my brat, because she wasn’t the type to hang out at Stu’s. Yet here she was, on a Saturday night, out on the town. She was wearing a blue dress,
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