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

“I have my men watching your house. You’ll be safe until we find this guy.”

Would I? I wanted to feel safe again.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Was I thanking my hero? Or my enemy? I was too tired to care anymore. He rang off and I let the arm holding the telephone drop to my side. My mother and my sister stared at me. “I’m going to bed.”

Amazingly neither of them tried to stop me. I was too tired not to sleep, but my dreams featured the round-headed man in his green van. I gave in and woke up. Morning was better than dreaming. And I didn’t want to be late for my appointment to autograph cockroach butts.

When I’d done what I could to mitigate the ravages to my person, I grabbed my purse and headed for my car. Rosemary had parked it out front, right across from the two agents assigned to guard me. Keeping a wary eye on them in the rear view mirror, I steered a course for the nearest Burger King where I ordered a six pack of muffins to clear the angst from my head. My protectors followed me inside, looking silly and sinister as they sat nearby, still wearing sunglasses and sipping orange juice from little cartons.

No wonder it was hard to take the CIA seriously.

I lost them when I went in the convention center. I had a pass to the convention floor and they didn’t. Since I was early, I took my time.

The exhibits were varied and interesting. My sketch fingers started to itch. Then I saw this huge, sand sculpture in the middle of the floor. Sculptors were still busy shaping the sand into a composition of books, kids, and monsters. And I thought roaches were tough to work with. I had to get this down. I dug through my purse for my sketch pad. Then dug through again. The only thing I found there was a lot of junk and Rosemary’s glue gun. Where was it? Last time I’d had it had been…the police station, no I still had it until I’d spewed all the contents of my purse getting out of the CIA limo. Had it been overlooked inside the limo or on the ground under the limo? I’d have to ask Kel, but didn’t know what to hope for. I hated to lose the sketches I’d made, but did I want Kel to know more about me than he already did? Looking in my sketch book was tantamount to reading someone else’s diary.

I was so bummed, I almost didn’t see the exhibit for PT-PAC, the late Mrs. Carter’s committee. Curious, I strolled over to a woman arranging brochures. She looked a little wan around the edges, her eyes red-rimmed and tired, but she managed a semi-smile for me as I walked up to her.

“Would you like to sign our petition?”

“Well, if I agree with you, I guess I could.” I’d made the mistake of signing something I didn’t agree with one other time in my life, which was the main reason I was on my way to sign roach tushes.

She launched into a little spiel about the group, how their main focus was improving education, but because they kept running up against the special interest lock on Congress they had decided to focus on getting term limitations and line item veto for the President. She handed me a wad of pamphlets as she spoke. Of course I signed. Who wasn’t against Congress?

I added her stuff to the mess in my purse, then asked, “I guess Mrs. Carter’s death isn’t going to disband the group?”

Tears welled, then spilled from her eyes. She didn’t ask how I knew, just murmured. “It’s such a horrible thing. And then Paul, too…” her voice broke and she turned away.

“Paul Mitchell was part of your group, too?” She nodded. “How awful.” And what a weird coincidence. I could feel my dormant sleuth gland stir. Luckily I got interrupted.

“Stan. How charming to run into you again.” It was Flynn Kenyon. Another weird coincidence. Hadn’t seen him for months and now I’d run into him twice in as many days. He had a PT-PAC button pinned to the lapel of his Armani suit and looked more salvation salesman-ish than usual.

“I didn’t realize you were involved in this. Am I the only person I know who isn’t?” I asked.

He smiled whitely. “You’d be surprised who is.” He looked at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a meeting across town I have to attend.”

I watched his tall figure retreat through the crowd, turned to leave and slammed into a chest. Hands gripped my arms, I looked up, half expecting Kel, but the after shave wasn’t right. It smelled more like Dag.

Looked like him, too.

“Great.” I jerked free of his hold.

“What a pleasant encounter, darling Isabel. See I didn’t confuse you this time.” He glanced around. “No big boyfriend in tow?”

“No. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m never afraid, darling, just cautious. Have you ever wondered why you’re so anxious to avoid me?”

“No, Dag. I know why I’m so anxious to avoid you. You’re a toe rag.” I showed him a stiff back as I marched away.

Nasty, but he’d accomplished something a shower and a six pack of muffins hadn’t. He’d got my blood moving.

Boiling actually.

My editor looked up as I approached. Small and stocky, Marion looked brisk even when seated behind a table.

“Stan?” Her brows rose as she took in my appearance. “You look—”

“Like hell. I know. You’re lucky I made it. Just give me a pen and point me toward the bug butts.”

She did as requested. “Do I hope that someday you’ll explain why you look like that?”

“Just watch for me on Fox News.”

She sighed. “You’ll do anything to get out of autographing books, won’t you?”

“And yet here I am.” I picked up the pen and pulled the first poster butt toward me. The Dag induced energy surge