"Esther M Friesner - Jesus At The Bat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

And that was why, with luck, there would forever be one less used car salesman
at Four Comers and never a moment's peace for the Harris family at the Sharon
Valley Regional Elementary School P.T.A. spring picnic.

"Barb, hon, you look just gorgeous!" Sally McClellan swept down on Barb like a
tornado on a trailer park.

The McClellans and the Harrises didn't usually move in the same circles. Victor
Harris moved in circles pretty constantly, while Phil McClellan moved solely in
a steep, straight line of ascent to the windswept heights of financial success
whence he might safely piss on the upturned faces of those below.

However, when the first sweet shoots of spring green burst through the hard
Sharon Valley earth, Phil McClellan graciously maintained temporary bladder
control so far as Victor's face went. As he told The Little Woman, if kissing
Victor Harris' skinny ass was called for to achieve your goals, then by God and
Ted Turner Industries, Phil McClellan would take a back seat to no one when it
came to posterior pucker-ups. The Little Woman conducted herself accordingly as
regarded Mrs. Victor Harris' more shapely buns, indeed.

Barb was nobody's fool except Victor's and he'd had to marry her for that
privilege. She knew just what Sally was after and she sat back on the picnic
table bench with all the smirking superiority of a Renaissance prince
contemplating where to insert his next dagger. "Sally, darling" she purred.
Cheeks brushed. Kissy-kissy mwah-mwahs were uttered. "When are you gonna come
around to the La Belle so I can get my hands on your hair?" (La Belle being the
town aesthetorium where Barb currently aestheted.)

Sally gave a nervous little giggle and fluffed her golden pour of curls with no
apparent need. "Oh, I'll be around. I don't think I'm due for a trim just yet."

"Every six weeks." Relentless, that was Barb in the spring. "And I know I
haven't seen you since last September." Somewhere a ghostly poniard glittered.
"I hear tell you've been going up to Pittsburgh to have it done." Zzzip-zot, a
slender blade slipped in and out between Sally McClellan's spareribs without The
Little Woman feeling anything but a draft tickling her pancreas.

Sally turned bright red. "Who told you that?"

"Marylynn Drummer." Barb's eyes were hooded and inscrutable, but she licked her
lips to savor the taste of blood.

"Well, it's just a baldfaced lie!" Sally spat. "When did she say so?"

"Mmmm, hard to recall." Barb sucked a few last crimson drops off the tip of her
index finger. "I see her so often. Every week she's in the La Belie for a
shampoo and blow-dry at least. She's got a standing appointment." It was time
for the coup de grace, the mercy stroke to end the victim's misery but good.
"Sometimes she even brings in little Bobby, and you would be amazed to see how