"03 - Much Ado in Maggody" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hess Joan)

"Not now, Staci Ellen," Carolyn McCoy-Grunders said, covering the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver with one hand. "I told you to hold all my calls. If you would bother to move that mane of hair from your face, you would see that I'm still on the telephone."

"She says it's long distance," Staci Ellen said, not bothering.

"And I told you to hold my calls." Carolyn glared until Staci Ellen closed the door, then sank back in her chair and said, "So what, Monty? You may stay in Las Vegas until hell freezes over, but I'm not going to be there with my snowshoes. Why don't you invite poor Elizabeth to go with you? That way you won't have to worry about her."

She sat and listened while he argued, but she felt no flicker of remorse. Monty had had his chance, but he'd blown it. He was nothing but pond scum. HeЧand all the other pompous pricks in the world, including her ex-husband and his flat-bellied, sorority girl brideЧcould rot in hell, for all she cared.

When Monty stopped to take a breath, she told him as much and banged down the receiver with a venomous frown. Men wanted only one thing. As soon as they got it, they started looking over the fence to see if the grass was greener and the asses tighter. Chauvinist pigs, every last one of them. And lawyers were the worst of the miserable lot. She'd survived the asshole professors in law school, but she'd discovered immediately that she couldn't stomach the genial condescension of a paternalistic law firm.

Thank God she'd applied for the position at Women Aligned Against Chauvinism in the Office. It paid a pittance, but at least she wasn't forced to simper at some disgusting old man simply to be assigned a case. Here she was her own boss and could pick her cases as she pleased.

She was comtemplating a wedding present for the little coupleЧand wondering if there were a postal regulation concerning the interstate mailing of coral snakesЧwhen Staci Ellen tapped on the door.

"What is it now?"

"That same woman called again," Staci Ellen said cautiously (and wondering if her boss was in the throes of PMS and therefore unlikely to allow an early departure on Friday afternoon). "She keeps saying she went to one of your seminars last year, and that you're the only one who can help her."

Carolyn snatched up the nearest file and opened it. "Tell her I'm too busy to talk to her. If she wishes, she can give you her address and you can mail her the initial complaint forms. I'll look them over when I have time, but it may not be for several months. Doesn't she know we're absolutely swamped with complaints?"

Staci Ellen dutifully went away to repeat the instructions from high. Carolyn shoved the file away and took out the telephone directory. "Pet stores," she said under her breath as her fingers did the walking.


3


Toward the end of the week I was still sitting around the PD, although I'd roused myself long enough to run into Farberville to a travel agency in order to pick up a handful of brochures for Alaskan cruises. I had them spread across my desk so I could see glaciers from every perspective. The heat had pretty well sautщed my brain, and I was idly considering the wisdom of knocking off the branch bank to finance my cruise. With Kevin Buchanon as the security guard, I figured I could be in and out in a matter of minutes. No one would be the wiserЧespecially Kevin.

I was having such a fine time that I was a little irked when I heard footsteps outside the door. Irk turned to out-and-out irritation when Mrs. Jim Bob Buchanon opened the door and actually set foot in my office. Mrs. Jim Bob is my least favorite resident. She's prim and self-righteous, even when she's preparing to screw somebody with a ten-inch screwdriver and a twelve-inch screw. Her beady yellow eyes glitter, and her tight little mouth snakes up at the corners in a pretense of a smile. I know better; I've seen the expression on cats playing with half dead chipmunks or bloodied bunnies.

She is, however, the mayor's wife, and the mayor controls the police department purse stringsЧand my salary comes from within that purse. A while back we'd had an amusing incident in Maggody in which Hizzoner the Moron was shown to be the hypocritical hypocritical sleaze I'd always known him to be. But it was too hot for witty repartee, so I settled for a flip of my hand and a bright, "What do you want, Mrs. Jim Bob? Looking for a place to bake buttermilk biscuits?"

She blinked at me for a moment, then decided I was being a smart aleck and perched on the chair across from my desk. Once she'd crossed her ankles, settled her purse squarely on her lap, and folded her hands neatly across it, she said, "This place is disgraceful, Arly. I don't know how you expect citizens to file complaints when it's so hot in here." She pulled a church bulletin from her purse and began to fan herself with ladylike fury.

"I do believe you're right," I said through a yawn. "Maybe Brother Verber can drag the congregation down here on Sunday to extol the perils of hell. Thirty minutes in here would put the fear of God in every last soul who survived."

"I do not care for that kind of talk. You'd better watch that mouth of yours if you plan to continue being chief of police."

"Okay, I quit. Just give me a minute to knock off the branch bank and I'll be on the road to Fairbanks and points north. Maybe I can meet a well-endowed Eskimo dressed in skintight sealskin, and we can rub noses until they fall off from all that exotic, erotic stimulation. You know, I've never before considered my nose as a sexual organ, butЧ"

"That is quite enough, Arly Hanks. I did not come in here to listen to your trashy language or your pornographic carryings-on."

"That's mighty comforting to know, Mrs. Jim Bob. If that's all, I was getting ready to oil my gun and draw up a map of the bank. I don't suppose you have an old ski mask I could borrow, do you?"

Her eyes narrowed so much I was surprised they didn't implode. Her fingers twitched for a minute, as if feeling themselves wrapped around someone's neck, before returning to her purse. "Are you finished with all this mouthy talk, Arly? If so, I'd like you to do something about that disgraceful situation up at the bankЧand I mean right this instant. You are the chief of police. You have an obligation to the town council and the citizens of this community to get off your fanny and do something!"

"What did you have in mind, Mrs. Jim Bob?" I asked through another yawn. "I've already explained to Johnna Mae Nookim that there's nothing I can do. However, if you're going to get all huffy, I suppose I can run Sherman Oliver over to the county jail and have him locked up for a few hours."

"Sherman Oliver? I swear, this heat has addled you. Truda Oliver happens to be one of my dearest friends, not to mention president of the missionary society at the Voice of the Almighty Lord. Not that you'd know that, of course, since I don't believe I've ever seen you in the house of the Lord. Jim Bob and I haven't missed a service in twenty years, and that includes Wednesday prayer meetings, Sunday evening potlucks, and every single night of the annual revivals."