Read Online The Miss Fortune Series: Overdue (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Shari Hearn - Free Book Online
Authors: Shari Hearn
Ads: Link
“Just don’t let my daughter, Janice, hear me say that. She’s always thought I was frivolous with my money. If I let her run things, I’d be kowtowing to the publishers and churning out crap, and hoarding every penny.”
Well, that certainly piqued my interest.
“And, no, she didn’t kill Waddell,” Lila Rose said. “Not that she doesn’t know her way around a needle. The dog is very high-strung and requires a shot of tranquilizer on occasion. In fact, we have an emergency fanny pack we take with us when we walk her, equipped with treats and a syringe at the ready. Janice is the one who handles all that. Lord knows she won’t let me do it. But, hell, even I know a thing or two about needles. I’m a mystery writer. I’ve consulted umpteen medical professionals while researching facts for my books. But it’s one thing to know how to kill someone, quite another to have the capacity for murder. And though you won’t find Janice grieving much for Waddell, she doesn’t possess the capacity for murder.”
“So who does?” I took a bite from the cookie. Peanut butter with a grape jelly filling. “P B and J,” I said, holding the cookie up. “My favorite.”
“Of course they are,” she said. Odd. Her voice seemed to deepen. Her seated posture, which had been slightly stiff in the chair, was now more relaxed. She grasped my knee and firmly shook it. “What were we talking about again?”
“Waddell’s murder. Your ideas about who might have done it.”
“I’m glad you asked, kiddo because I’ve been observing some mighty strange things lately.” She reached for a folder on the wicker coffee table next to the plate of cookies. “When Deputy LeBlanc called to say he was coming over to talk about Waddell, that reminded me of something peculiar that I observed a week ago.”
She opened the file folder, bulging with pages of lined paper, and pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the page. “It had to do with the mailman. I was walking Gracie, she’s my chocolate lab. She was sniffing around Juliette Nolin’s azalea bushes and decided it was time to do her business. I knew Juliette would pitch a fit if Gracie left one ounce of poo on her precious grass, so I walked her around Juliette’s house to the empty lot next door.”
I nodded.
“Soon I heard people approaching, stopping behind those hideous topiaries that fill Juliette’s yard. One voice was Waddell. I couldn’t quite place the other voice, but I looked down and noticed a pair of jungle-print hi-top sneakers with a zipper in the back. Silly shoe for a man, but I’d seen that shoe before.” She looked down at the notes. “On the mailman. He doesn’t wear them every day, thank the good Lord.”
“What were they talking about?” I asked.
“The mailman said Waddell was holding out on him. He wanted all of the goods. Waddell said he was raising the price on his services. Said it was worth it. The mailman agreed to the price, but said this was the last time Waddell was going to raise it. Waddell then left and the mailman called someone on his cell phone. Sounded like it might be a lady friend. Now, I don’t know if this is the same lady friend,” she said, examining her notes, “but I do remember seeing the mailman with the café owner.”
“Francine?”
She looked back at her notes. “I don’t have a name here.”
“Francine owns Francine’s Café,” I said. “The only restaurant in Sinful.”
She thought a moment, then nodded. And blinked a few times, as if she were getting her bearings. “You’re right, Miss Morrow,” she said, her voice lifting a bit in pitch. “Francine’s is the only place to dine in Sinful. Do they still have that silly banana pudding race every Sunday? Honest to Pete, if those ladies love pudding so much, why don’t they learn to make it themselves?”
“Do you remember the mailman saying anything else to the woman on the phone?”
She looked puzzled. “Who?”
“The mailman. With the
Well, that certainly piqued my interest.
“And, no, she didn’t kill Waddell,” Lila Rose said. “Not that she doesn’t know her way around a needle. The dog is very high-strung and requires a shot of tranquilizer on occasion. In fact, we have an emergency fanny pack we take with us when we walk her, equipped with treats and a syringe at the ready. Janice is the one who handles all that. Lord knows she won’t let me do it. But, hell, even I know a thing or two about needles. I’m a mystery writer. I’ve consulted umpteen medical professionals while researching facts for my books. But it’s one thing to know how to kill someone, quite another to have the capacity for murder. And though you won’t find Janice grieving much for Waddell, she doesn’t possess the capacity for murder.”
“So who does?” I took a bite from the cookie. Peanut butter with a grape jelly filling. “P B and J,” I said, holding the cookie up. “My favorite.”
“Of course they are,” she said. Odd. Her voice seemed to deepen. Her seated posture, which had been slightly stiff in the chair, was now more relaxed. She grasped my knee and firmly shook it. “What were we talking about again?”
“Waddell’s murder. Your ideas about who might have done it.”
“I’m glad you asked, kiddo because I’ve been observing some mighty strange things lately.” She reached for a folder on the wicker coffee table next to the plate of cookies. “When Deputy LeBlanc called to say he was coming over to talk about Waddell, that reminded me of something peculiar that I observed a week ago.”
She opened the file folder, bulging with pages of lined paper, and pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the page. “It had to do with the mailman. I was walking Gracie, she’s my chocolate lab. She was sniffing around Juliette Nolin’s azalea bushes and decided it was time to do her business. I knew Juliette would pitch a fit if Gracie left one ounce of poo on her precious grass, so I walked her around Juliette’s house to the empty lot next door.”
I nodded.
“Soon I heard people approaching, stopping behind those hideous topiaries that fill Juliette’s yard. One voice was Waddell. I couldn’t quite place the other voice, but I looked down and noticed a pair of jungle-print hi-top sneakers with a zipper in the back. Silly shoe for a man, but I’d seen that shoe before.” She looked down at the notes. “On the mailman. He doesn’t wear them every day, thank the good Lord.”
“What were they talking about?” I asked.
“The mailman said Waddell was holding out on him. He wanted all of the goods. Waddell said he was raising the price on his services. Said it was worth it. The mailman agreed to the price, but said this was the last time Waddell was going to raise it. Waddell then left and the mailman called someone on his cell phone. Sounded like it might be a lady friend. Now, I don’t know if this is the same lady friend,” she said, examining her notes, “but I do remember seeing the mailman with the café owner.”
“Francine?”
She looked back at her notes. “I don’t have a name here.”
“Francine owns Francine’s Café,” I said. “The only restaurant in Sinful.”
She thought a moment, then nodded. And blinked a few times, as if she were getting her bearings. “You’re right, Miss Morrow,” she said, her voice lifting a bit in pitch. “Francine’s is the only place to dine in Sinful. Do they still have that silly banana pudding race every Sunday? Honest to Pete, if those ladies love pudding so much, why don’t they learn to make it themselves?”
“Do you remember the mailman saying anything else to the woman on the phone?”
She looked puzzled. “Who?”
“The mailman. With the
Similar Books
