Murder is the Pits Read Free

drag up
dirty linen.” She smirked, pleased with her witticism.
    I rolled my eyes.
    “What if it’s a Category 2 storm?” Ruthie
asked anxiously, having missed the whole conversation about Zack.
“We won’t stay then, will we? There would probably be storm surge;
we could be flooded.”
    Penny Sue huffed. “There are two big dunes
between us and the beach, for crissakes. If it makes you feel
better, we’ll evacuate for a Category 2. Of course, that means
we’ll have to go to a school and sit in a hallway with a bunch of
screaming kids.”
    “School?” Ruthie repeated, biting her
fingernail. “I figured we’d go to one of the hotels in Orlando or
St. Augustine.”
    “ If we can get a room. This is
tourist season—everything’s already booked.”
    “I hadn’t thought of that,” Ruthie
replied.
    Our sensitive friend was working herself
into a tizzy. Ruthie had run her hands through her hair so many
times her bangs were standing straight up. I patted her knee
reassuringly. “Don’t worry—the storm won’t hit us. It’s south of
Cuba and headed for the Gulf. We’ll lay in supplies as a
precaution. New Smyrna has never taken a direct hit.”
    “Everyone keeps saying that. Did you ever
think that we might be overdue? Besides, a glancing blow from a
Category 2 storm is nothing to sneeze at. Winds can be as high as
110 mph.” Her voice was up an octave. “Imagine driving a car at 110
mph and sticking your arm out of the window. Think how that would
feel!”
    Ouch! I’d never thought in those terms. My
stomach suddenly knotted. “Maybe we should try to find a
hotel.”
    “Y’all are worrywarts,” Penny Sue said,
eyeing the clock. “Only a few minutes left of my birthday, and
you’re whining about something that may never happen.” She sashayed
to the kitchen and poured herself a Bailey’s on the rocks. “Come
on, let’s party!” She held her drink up.
    Ruthie and I shook our heads. One
liquor-laced coffee was enough.
    “I know what you need.” Penny Sue pushed the
CD for Midlife Crisis into the boom box and turned the
volume to high. The musical’s spoof of “Heat Wave” bounced from the
vaulted ceiling.
    Glass held high, Penny Sue twirled to the
driving rhythm. Suddenly, she planted her feet. Snapping her
fingers like the dance scene in West Side Story , she gyrated
toward us, stopped within inches of our faces and crooned, “It’s a
hot flash burning up my spine. … A hot flash that makes my forehead
shine.” She snapped her fingers. “Come on,” she chided, “don’t be
sticks in the mud.”
    The energy was infectious. I glanced at
Ruthie, who shrugged and giggled. “What the hell?”
    Next thing I knew, Ruthie and I were gulping
wine, shaking our booties, and singing three-part harmony.
    The heck with Charley! Tomorrow was another
day. Now, we were going to party for the last few minutes of Penny
Sue’s birthday.

    * * *

Chapter 2

    August 13, New Smyrna Beach, FL

    Rinn-ng, rinn-ng. B AM , BAM,
BAM. “Halt, who goes there?” Lu Nee 2’s mechanical voice
squawked.
    I rolled to my side and checked the clock.
Eight AM . What dimwit would come calling
at eight in the morning? Then I realized it was Friday the
thirteenth. Fitting. I hoped this wasn’t an omen for the rest of
the day. I snatched my robe from the end of the bed and headed down
the hall followed by Ruthie. Penny Sue was already at the door, eye
pressed against the peephole, hands holding her head. It looked
like she’d slightly over-celebrated with the Bailey’s Irish
Cream.
    Penny Sue was a sight, as my mother says,
with her hair standing on end and mascara streaking her cheeks. The
only saving grace was a spiffy, pink print kimono.
    “It’s a tall, skinny guy with salt and
pepper hair,” she whispered.
    I nudged her aside and took a look. “That’s
Guthrie.”
    Penny Sue regarded me like I’d dropped in
from outer space. “Guthrie? Who the heck,” she paused to massage
her temples, “is Guthrie? What