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

moved to New Orleans to prove I didn’t care. Poor Rosemary sure paid a heavy price for autonomy, I decided, watching Dag pay his tab and then usher his bimbo of the moment out the door. He looked back long enough to give me a mocking salute. I resisted the urge to give him a one-finger salute in return.

“Do you think he saw the car outside your house last night?” I asked.

“It isn’t the only Mercedes around.”

“He has a particular interest in this car.” And what if he saw more than just the car?

“Does it matter?”

“Probably not.” I tried to shrug away the uneasy feeling that it did matter while we finished our dessert. I was glad to leave the stuffy den for the cold outside, even more glad for Mike’s big body providing some shelter from the breeze whipping across the parking lot. His arm over my shoulders was comforting, but it didn’t weaken a single bone in my body as we strolled in the direction of his car. Dozy and stuffed with good food, my gaze passed right over the round silhouette without it registering on my internal Richter scale for several steps.

I stopped, looked back and saw nothing.

“Stan?” Mike pulled gently on my arm.

Further down the line of cars, I sensed, rather than saw movement. Without thinking I pulled away from Mike and took a few steps in that direction.

“My car’s this way.”

“Did you see someone over there?” I didn’t consider this sleuthing. It was being careful. “There, did you see that?”

“So, there’s someone there. What of it? This is a parking lot.” Mike sounded understandably bewildered.

I saw a minivan pull away from a line of cars and turn toward the street. In just a moment it would have to pass under the street light. I pressed forward, anxious to see the color, caught my heel on something on the ground and went sprawling. The landing was surprisingly soft.

What—

In my peripheral vision I saw an ear. Before I could stop myself, I turned and looked. A face. A face with a thin line of something dark oozing down from the hole in his temple…

I sipped the coffee Mike brought me and leaned against a police car, the flashing blue lights tracing a constant path across my feet, heightening the feeling that I’d wandered onto a crime drama cop show. All around me official types were stringing tape, taking pictures and asking questions. No one was drawing chalk outlines, which I found disappointing. I decided I was in shock. With detached calm, I spotted Mike making his way through the throng of police people. He looked so normal, so real, it was almost obscene.

“How are you feeling?”

I managed a wan smile. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I lost it. I had no idea I was a screamer.”

“It’s a nasty business.”

“Do they—” I had to swallow twice before I could get past the clump of fear clogging my throat. “—know who it was?”

“It’s a kid.” He shook his head. “I heard someone mention drugs.”

I shouldn’t be relieved it wasn’t Kel. Someone had died. Someone’s son or brother. I wanted to cry, but I was too tired. And it was so very cold, my tears would come out as ice cubes. I couldn’t seem to stop shuddering. They’d start as small, little quivers across the surface of my skin, raising goose bumps on their way, then grow into these great, quaking shudders that made my bones ache and rattled my teeth.

“I want to go home.” I looked up at him with a pitiful look that wasn’t faked.

While Mike went to check, I stood up and tried out my legs with some pacing. My teeth didn’t chatter so bad when I kept moving. I wasn’t surprised when Kel pulled me into the shadow of 4x4 pickup truck. It seemed inevitable.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Happened?” Although I couldn’t see him that well, since he’d lost the burnoose for a clothes black-out, I looked away. “What happened? I tripped on a body. That’s what happened.”

“How did you manage that?”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice that brought my hackles up. It wasn’t his fault, I knew it in my mind, but in my heart I felt like it was. I’d managed to get through four years in New Orleans without involvement in any kind of crime. Less than twenty-four hours after meeting him, I was involved in two murders. Coincidence?

Only if I believed in fairy tales.

“I thought I saw the round-headed man.”

“The…who?”

“The round-headed man. From last night. You know, in the green minivan that chased us? The guy who killed Mrs. Carter. I thought—aren’t you here looking for him?”

“I didn’t see the man who shot at me.” He stepped close, enveloping me in the spicy scent of his aftershave, mixed liberally with cooking smells from the Tandoor Club. It was pretty yummy, even on a full stomach and in shock to my eyeballs. “You saw the man who shot at us? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

There was a short silence. “Did he see you?”

“Tonight? I don’t think so.”

“No, last night. Did he see you last night, when you saw him? Does he know you saw him?”

“I don’t know.” Yummy fled. People who can identify killers get killed. This was not good. “I wish Mrs. Macpherson hadn’t got the flu.”

Kel looked at me, opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “Are you sure it was the same man?”

“Of course not. I only saw his silhouette. But he drove off in a minivan—and no, I don’t know if it was the same one. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s dark out.” I was descending into grumpy. I was tired and I wanted to go home. And worst of all, I wanted my mother. I’d been reduced to that. “Are you, like, a private detective or something?”

He went tense. “Why do you ask?”

Had I struck a nerve? “John Q. Citizen you’re not. I’m not stupid, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he didn’t