Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle, Pauline Jones [top 100 novels of all time .txt] 📗

She looked at his tired face. Just as Gracie had been a normal center in Luci’s life, that’s what Delaney did for Mickey, while Mickey tried to steer an uneasy path through the minefield of Seymour eccentricities. She knew Mickey loved her but would love be enough without his best friend to be his outlet and counterweight?

Luci rubbed her stomach as the baby stirred again. She didn’t want her son to grow up without a father the way she had.

Mickey stopped in front of the house and looked at her. Maybe it was something in her eyes, but he asked, “What?”

“I love you,” Luci said. She was too tired to say anything else.

Maybe he sensed the conflict in her voice, because he leaned close. “I’m not going anywhere. Except to bed? Wanna join me?”

Luci smiled. “I’d love to.”

Perhaps Mother Nature liked Miss Weena, because when she had a party, the sun shone bright, and this day was no exception. Outside the air was August-thick and moist—ominously so. The first tropical storm of the season was just entering the Gulf of Mexico. With the city on alert, Mickey had reluctantly left for work, after making sure Luci had her cell in hand, not under the phlox. She suspected Delaney was lurking about, too.

Luci, who had been forbidden by Miss Weena and Mickey from doing more than observing the preparations for the tea party, sat on the patio in the only chair that would hold her. Moisture beaded her skin, making her clothes stick to her elephantine form, but for once she didn’t care. She worried about the strain on Louise, but the elderly housekeeper seemed almost happy about the party, if the slight lightening of her dour expression was any indication. It helped that, for once, Miss Weena seemed intent on keeping things simple. She hadn’t even chosen a theme for the party. Of course, purgatory was the only theme possible for a hot August day. And who wanted to be reminded they were in that place?

In startling contrast to the bustle inside the house, the garden remained placid and serene. Even the bugs seemed to have been quieted by the oppressive heat. It was an odd place for a murder. Like the detective in the past, Luci could find no motive for Gracie’s murder, but couldn’t escape the conclusion she was the intended victim. The perp would have seen her coming out. He’d shot her, walked over to make sure she was dead, based on footprint evidence, then left by the back gate. Which brought her back round to why? Why Gracie? It was the key to solving the murder, the only key. And that key was missing, not just from the evidence, but from Gracie’s brain.

Earlier, Luci had spent some time questioning her, until Miss Weena had demanded her assistance. Luci rubbed her stomach. As the time of the party drew near, those stinking Braxton-Hicks pains were stepping up their pace, too. Her stomach would get so taut, she could bounce quarters off it—if she were masochist enough to try.

She tried to sigh, but the air was too thick and her lungs too cramped by the baby. When she couldn’t take the heat anymore, she struggled to her feet. It felt like they spread another shoe size bigger as her weight hit them. She was so tired of waddling everywhere. In her mind, she tried to see herself walking with her old swing as she moved forward, but it was no use. The old swing was buried under baby fat.

In the front sitting room, she found Louise setting the tea service on the low coffee table in front of an uncomfortable looking Victorian sofa. This room was essentially Miss Weena, though not the Mardi Gras Weena. No, this room was the Avon Miss Weena. She loved smells and every Avon lady within a mile had somehow found her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Miss Weena could have let go of the pretty packaging, instead of scattering them all over the room. Their smells, never completely gone, leaked into the air. None of them strong enough to dominate, they mixed together to become something almost unpleasant. Even the tiny cakes and tea couldn’t quite edge it out.

Luci hadn’t minded it so much until the baby. Now the room made her nauseous. She rubbed her nose, wishing for a nice quiet hospital room.

Upstairs she could hear Miss Weena’s fluting voice getting closer. Miss Weena—had a plan. What could she be planning that needed a tea party—Hercule Poirot. Luci turned in a circle. She was gathering her suspects. But why? What did she hope to accomplish? She still didn’t know who did it…

With a loud mental click, one, possibly two pieces of the puzzle got together inside her sluggish brain. She wished she could take a nap and recuperate from the effort, but there wasn’t time.

“This is a very bad idea,” Luci said, surprised to hear her voice break the silence that always surrounded the mute Louise.

Louise looked back, with one arched brow. She only resorted to the chalkboard hanging from her apron when forced to. At that moment, Miss Weena trotted in, looking very gay in her best poplin dress—the one she’d said she wanted to be buried in. Clearly she was optimistic about the outcome of her plan. How weird, Luci thought through another pain, to be optimistic about dying….

“What’s a bad idea?” Miss Weena’s attention was on the table, not Luci.

Luci waddled forward and grabbed her aunt’s hands in attempt to get her attention. “Dear Miss Weena, think about what will happen to your guests’ hearts if they get a killer instead of the tea you promised them.”

“We’re all dying, dear.” She tugged at her hands, trying to free herself. “And Miss Gracie’s death must be avenged.”

“At least let me get some EMT’s on stand-by.” With five suspects, they’d probably need a set for each. A strong, sharp pain almost doubled her over.