broadened.
“That’s pretty low even for you.”
“What happened to goodie-two-shoes?” Boone shoved his hands into his pockets, gave me a little wink, then stepped into the foray of people exiting Eternal Slumber. A gurney rolled to the front door, attention-whore Blanche Woodside buckled in tight, waving to the crowd Pope style.
“You’re not going to stop me,” I yelled at Boone as he headed down the sidewalk.
“But I can slow you down plenty,” he called back over the crowd.
I winged a pinecone at Boone’s big fat head, missed by a mile, and knocked Elsie Abbott’s hat cattywampus. With all the commotion she didn’t even notice. I was more determined than ever to snoop around and not just because Boone ticked me off. I had suspects on my list that Boone didn’t have, really good suspects. Oh, I could inform Mr. Pighead that Marigold had a big old hissy over going to the funeral with her dear husband, and Lolly Ledbetter wearing a red dress to the wake tonight meant something other than she liked the color red. Boone wouldn’t get that these two gals were beyond infuriated and more than capable of dumping poison in Scummy’s drink without a moment’s hesitation.
Archie Lee was still a front-runner on my who-killed-Scummy list. Popeye had a working knowledge of poisonous plants, and now there was this guy Dozer to consider. Two people had warned me about him being a badass, and Dozer had blood pressure problems, meaning he knew something about heart meds and what they did. He was also a working guy, not a fan of Seymour’s, and probably one of the original Saint Patty’s Day signers of the declaration of Archie Lee for Alderman.
The ambulance carrying Blanche motored off down Price with sirens blasting, at the request of Blanche no doubt, as Lolly’s Trolley minus its passengers charged our way. It swayed precariously from side to side and jumped the curb, chasing weary mourners screaming onto the porch. The trolley finally came to rest between two lampposts.
“Is that Lolly?” Cazy asked, stumbling down the trolley steps and pointing a shaky finger at the retreating ambulance. “A few minutes ago Twitter lit up like a Christmas tree, saying some ruckus happened here at Eternal Slumber. I knew it must be my Lolly. I told her not to go and wear that red dress. What happened to her? Is she going to be okay? I told her she shouldn’t come here. Seymour’s dead, and our troubles are over once and for all. What happened?”
I sat Cazy on the bottom step of the trolley and fanned him with Old Yeller. “The what-happened part covers a lot of territory tonight, but Lolly isn’t in the ambulance.”
“Blanche Woodside again?”
“The one and only. Lolly is probably headed home. Last time I saw her she was fine, but you best move this trolley; the police are in a bad mood tonight. Seems someone dumped a plant on Seymour’s head, causing quite a stir, and no one’s been quite the same since.”
Cazy’s jaw dropped. “Lolly did that?”
“Two little old ladies with wild curly hair. Sort of disappeared into the night; no one’s seen them since.” I pulled Cazy to standing. “Officer Grumpy-Pants is coming this way. You better get a move on.”
Cazy climbed behind the wheel. I stepped into the street, holding out my arms to stop traffic. I did the come-on-back wave to Cazy, directing him where to go, and after a few back-and-forth K-turns he straightened the trolley. Hoping Cazy was in a chatty mood, I took the seat behind him when he pulled into the flow of traffic. It was a chance to get a little information, enjoy the open-air ride over cobblestone streets with downtown Savannah all lit up and nighttime happy.
“Why did you think Lolly would be at Eternal Slumber?” I asked Cazy, a Little Miss Oblivious lilt in my voice as we rumbled along.
Cazy stopped for a red light and glanced my way, eyes widening in recognition. “Well heavenly days, you’re Judge Summerside’s daughter,
“That’s pretty low even for you.”
“What happened to goodie-two-shoes?” Boone shoved his hands into his pockets, gave me a little wink, then stepped into the foray of people exiting Eternal Slumber. A gurney rolled to the front door, attention-whore Blanche Woodside buckled in tight, waving to the crowd Pope style.
“You’re not going to stop me,” I yelled at Boone as he headed down the sidewalk.
“But I can slow you down plenty,” he called back over the crowd.
I winged a pinecone at Boone’s big fat head, missed by a mile, and knocked Elsie Abbott’s hat cattywampus. With all the commotion she didn’t even notice. I was more determined than ever to snoop around and not just because Boone ticked me off. I had suspects on my list that Boone didn’t have, really good suspects. Oh, I could inform Mr. Pighead that Marigold had a big old hissy over going to the funeral with her dear husband, and Lolly Ledbetter wearing a red dress to the wake tonight meant something other than she liked the color red. Boone wouldn’t get that these two gals were beyond infuriated and more than capable of dumping poison in Scummy’s drink without a moment’s hesitation.
Archie Lee was still a front-runner on my who-killed-Scummy list. Popeye had a working knowledge of poisonous plants, and now there was this guy Dozer to consider. Two people had warned me about him being a badass, and Dozer had blood pressure problems, meaning he knew something about heart meds and what they did. He was also a working guy, not a fan of Seymour’s, and probably one of the original Saint Patty’s Day signers of the declaration of Archie Lee for Alderman.
The ambulance carrying Blanche motored off down Price with sirens blasting, at the request of Blanche no doubt, as Lolly’s Trolley minus its passengers charged our way. It swayed precariously from side to side and jumped the curb, chasing weary mourners screaming onto the porch. The trolley finally came to rest between two lampposts.
“Is that Lolly?” Cazy asked, stumbling down the trolley steps and pointing a shaky finger at the retreating ambulance. “A few minutes ago Twitter lit up like a Christmas tree, saying some ruckus happened here at Eternal Slumber. I knew it must be my Lolly. I told her not to go and wear that red dress. What happened to her? Is she going to be okay? I told her she shouldn’t come here. Seymour’s dead, and our troubles are over once and for all. What happened?”
I sat Cazy on the bottom step of the trolley and fanned him with Old Yeller. “The what-happened part covers a lot of territory tonight, but Lolly isn’t in the ambulance.”
“Blanche Woodside again?”
“The one and only. Lolly is probably headed home. Last time I saw her she was fine, but you best move this trolley; the police are in a bad mood tonight. Seems someone dumped a plant on Seymour’s head, causing quite a stir, and no one’s been quite the same since.”
Cazy’s jaw dropped. “Lolly did that?”
“Two little old ladies with wild curly hair. Sort of disappeared into the night; no one’s seen them since.” I pulled Cazy to standing. “Officer Grumpy-Pants is coming this way. You better get a move on.”
Cazy climbed behind the wheel. I stepped into the street, holding out my arms to stop traffic. I did the come-on-back wave to Cazy, directing him where to go, and after a few back-and-forth K-turns he straightened the trolley. Hoping Cazy was in a chatty mood, I took the seat behind him when he pulled into the flow of traffic. It was a chance to get a little information, enjoy the open-air ride over cobblestone streets with downtown Savannah all lit up and nighttime happy.
“Why did you think Lolly would be at Eternal Slumber?” I asked Cazy, a Little Miss Oblivious lilt in my voice as we rumbled along.
Cazy stopped for a red light and glanced my way, eyes widening in recognition. “Well heavenly days, you’re Judge Summerside’s daughter,
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