Calamity Jayne Rides Again Read Free

thirty to fifty-five years old. Her dark, leathery skin brought to mind the texture of one of my Western saddles. The
     antique one. I suspected too much beach time with too little sunscreen was a contributing culprit. That and the chain smoking.
     This year Lucy sported a bleachy blonde 'do. In past years she'd shown up as a brunette, a redhead and a strawberry blonde.
     Lean and toned, Lucy kind of reminded me of what a retired aerobics instructor might look like.
    "Aren't you sweet? I've been hearing the most delicious things about you," Lucy continued. "Is it really true you found four
     dead bodies?"
    I shook my head. "Only three. One I found twice."
    "I couldn't believe it when I read about it in the paper. I told all my friends, 'Why, I know that girl. I know Calamity Jayne!'
     Of course, they were dying to hear all about your state fair exploits. Like the time you knocked the tail off the butter cow.
     And when you deflated the giant beer can outside the beer tent. And there was the time you—"
    "Oh, gee, I have to run." I made a point of looking at my wrist, even though I'd forgotten to put on my watch. "I have to
     relieve Frank Junior down at the other stand in a few minutes. Nice seeing you again."
    "You're relieving Frankie? That's funny. I could swear I saw him heading out the Grand Avenue gate over an hour ago. Well,
     you go on now. We'll have plenty of time to catch up later."
    I nodded, making a mental note to self to avoid Lucy's Trinkets and Treasures. I was trying to move away from my past faux
     pas. I wanted to project a new image, cultivate a new reputation. One of maturity. Common sense. Competency. Okay, so maybe
     I'd shoot for paying all my bills on time for six months and work from there.
    I made my way to the mini-freeze via the Guess Your Weight or Age booth, thinking it might be fun if Lucy could stump the
     pro. I also wanted to check out how much weight I'd gained since last year. (Sorry, folks. That info is not for public dissemination.)
     I stopped by Tony's Taffy to say howdy-do. Of course, I had to sample each of the flavors and try this year's new offering,
     French Vanilla Cappuccino. (A big, but sticky, thumbs up!) I grabbed a corn dog from Carl, a lemonade from Louie, and a caramel
     apple from Ada. By the time I got to Uncle Frank's, I was ready for the antacid stand.
    I frowned when I saw the line snaking its way down the sidewalk outside the mini-freeze. What was Frankfurter doing, anyway,
     the little wiener? The line was longer than the one at the Bud tent on fifty-cent draw night.
    I hustled to the back of the tiny, white square building about the size of a one-half car garage, jerked the door open, and
     stepped inside.
    "What the heck is going on, Frankie?" I asked the figure in white cotton, his back to me. "You've got customers lined up from
     here to the pretzel place next door. What's the deal?"
    "I owe you an apology, Calamity," said the tall figure in white, struggling to construct something that resembled an ice cream
     cone. "These damned curlicues are not as easy to make as I thought."
    I took a step back. My jaw did a trap-door motion. I gasped as the man turned and slapped a soggy, misshapen cone into my
     hand.
    "I quit."
    I looked up from the drippy mess oozing down my wrist to the kaleidoscope of color splashed across the front of the white
     apron across from me.
    "Ranger Rick?" I stared at the gooey, ice-cream-covered man. "What are you doing here?"
    "I'm splitting this pop shack," he said, pulling off his apron. "And pronto."
    I shook my head, trying to process the picture of the tall, dark, and deadly handsome ranger splitting bananas and drizzling
     nuts.
    "You look good in confections," was all I could think to say.
    "Hell," he managed.
    "What are you doing here?" I asked again. "Where's Frankie?"
    "How should I know? I came over to get a damned dip cone and the place was unlocked, open for business, but empty as that
     greasy egg roll stand across the way.