Read Online The Good Girl's Guide to Murder by Susan McBride - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan McBride
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things.
Silly old me. I’d craved an easel and a new set of finger paints.
Hardly things that would’ve scored points on the pageant circuit.
My daddy, bless his soul, had always tried to convince me that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” and I’d wanted to buy the line. Badly. But I knew better because of people like Clancy Lee Carlyle.
And Cissy.
My mother had never met a can of AquaNet she didn’t like.
I sighed and changed lanes, deciding it was the unfortunate but deep-seated wish of every woman to be the cheerleader or homecoming queen, even when well past promage.
Okay, almost every woman.
Cissy was the one who’d had those dreams for me. My role, it seemed, was to dash them. Though every time I let her con me into wearing haute couture, like tonight, I gave her hope.
False hope, but hope just the same.
The Jeep’s engine rumbled beneath my pink shoes as I slowed at a stoplight at Preston and Belt Line. The sky was still mostly blue overhead, though I could detect the vague tinge of dusk descending as the sun began its slow slide from twelve o’clock high. The glass of surrounding buildings reflected clouds softening to pink.
Still, it wouldn’t be dark for an hour, at least. The days were definitely getting shorter, but not short enough to suit me. When summer got a hold of Dallas, it didn’t let go easily.
I fiddled with the vents, adjusting the AC to blow on my face. A quick check in the rearview mirror showed the sheen of perspiration on my forehead. My eyeliner already looked smudged. Another reason I didn’t like makeup. Sweat could too quickly turn me into Tammy Faye.
The light turned green, and I surged forward with the rest of the herd of four-wheeled cattle, catching the tail end of rush hour traffic. My gaze skimmed the lanes around me, finding Cadillacs aplenty. A swarm of white Sevilles surrounded me. Sitting high up in my Wrangler, I felt the urge to sing the theme from Rawhide .
My daddy used to drive a Caddy. A Brougham d’Elegance that he’d often bragged was inches longer than the Lincoln Town Car. It was definitely the biggest sedan I’d ever seen. Through my little girl eyes, it had seemed the size of a cruise ship. All it had needed was Gopher and Julie McCoy, and it could’ve been The Love Boat on wheels. I’d hated that car as much as my father had adored it. Though it was one of the few things he’d splurged on for himself. Nothing was too good for Mother or me, but Daddy didn’t indulge himself, not often. Certainly not the way he could have (that so many of his friends did).
Case in point: he hadn’t worn a Rolex like so many of his contemporaries (like so many of my contemporaries). He’d never seen the need. He’d told me once that “a watch is a watch is a watch,” and, to prove it, he’d had the same stainless-steel Omega strapped around his wrist for as long as I could remember. He’d been wearing it when he’d died.
Now I kept it in a carved wooden box—one that used to hold Daddy’s cigars—on the shelf of my nightstand, along with the paper strip from a fortune cookie I’d gotten from the Chinese take-out the evening after Daddy’s funeral. The message: ALL IS NOT LOST .
At the time, I’d surely felt like I’d lost everything. It had taken me a while to realize it wasn’t true.
My father had left me with so much. More than he would ever know.
Busy with my thoughts, I’d hardly noticed the countless restaurants on Belt Line that I’d bypassed, though the neon lights flashed in my rearview mirror. The colors set off nicely by the faded gray of the evening sky.
At the Midway intersection, I slipped the Jeep into the right-hand-turn lane and followed a slew of cars heading deeper into Addison. I glimpsed the antiques mall to my left, a big old box of a structure that housed aisle after aisle of treasures.
Marilee’s studio wasn’t much farther up, and it would’ve been hard to miss even if I hadn’t known where I was
Silly old me. I’d craved an easel and a new set of finger paints.
Hardly things that would’ve scored points on the pageant circuit.
My daddy, bless his soul, had always tried to convince me that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” and I’d wanted to buy the line. Badly. But I knew better because of people like Clancy Lee Carlyle.
And Cissy.
My mother had never met a can of AquaNet she didn’t like.
I sighed and changed lanes, deciding it was the unfortunate but deep-seated wish of every woman to be the cheerleader or homecoming queen, even when well past promage.
Okay, almost every woman.
Cissy was the one who’d had those dreams for me. My role, it seemed, was to dash them. Though every time I let her con me into wearing haute couture, like tonight, I gave her hope.
False hope, but hope just the same.
The Jeep’s engine rumbled beneath my pink shoes as I slowed at a stoplight at Preston and Belt Line. The sky was still mostly blue overhead, though I could detect the vague tinge of dusk descending as the sun began its slow slide from twelve o’clock high. The glass of surrounding buildings reflected clouds softening to pink.
Still, it wouldn’t be dark for an hour, at least. The days were definitely getting shorter, but not short enough to suit me. When summer got a hold of Dallas, it didn’t let go easily.
I fiddled with the vents, adjusting the AC to blow on my face. A quick check in the rearview mirror showed the sheen of perspiration on my forehead. My eyeliner already looked smudged. Another reason I didn’t like makeup. Sweat could too quickly turn me into Tammy Faye.
The light turned green, and I surged forward with the rest of the herd of four-wheeled cattle, catching the tail end of rush hour traffic. My gaze skimmed the lanes around me, finding Cadillacs aplenty. A swarm of white Sevilles surrounded me. Sitting high up in my Wrangler, I felt the urge to sing the theme from Rawhide .
My daddy used to drive a Caddy. A Brougham d’Elegance that he’d often bragged was inches longer than the Lincoln Town Car. It was definitely the biggest sedan I’d ever seen. Through my little girl eyes, it had seemed the size of a cruise ship. All it had needed was Gopher and Julie McCoy, and it could’ve been The Love Boat on wheels. I’d hated that car as much as my father had adored it. Though it was one of the few things he’d splurged on for himself. Nothing was too good for Mother or me, but Daddy didn’t indulge himself, not often. Certainly not the way he could have (that so many of his friends did).
Case in point: he hadn’t worn a Rolex like so many of his contemporaries (like so many of my contemporaries). He’d never seen the need. He’d told me once that “a watch is a watch is a watch,” and, to prove it, he’d had the same stainless-steel Omega strapped around his wrist for as long as I could remember. He’d been wearing it when he’d died.
Now I kept it in a carved wooden box—one that used to hold Daddy’s cigars—on the shelf of my nightstand, along with the paper strip from a fortune cookie I’d gotten from the Chinese take-out the evening after Daddy’s funeral. The message: ALL IS NOT LOST .
At the time, I’d surely felt like I’d lost everything. It had taken me a while to realize it wasn’t true.
My father had left me with so much. More than he would ever know.
Busy with my thoughts, I’d hardly noticed the countless restaurants on Belt Line that I’d bypassed, though the neon lights flashed in my rearview mirror. The colors set off nicely by the faded gray of the evening sky.
At the Midway intersection, I slipped the Jeep into the right-hand-turn lane and followed a slew of cars heading deeper into Addison. I glimpsed the antiques mall to my left, a big old box of a structure that housed aisle after aisle of treasures.
Marilee’s studio wasn’t much farther up, and it would’ve been hard to miss even if I hadn’t known where I was
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