Stone Cold Crazy (Lil & Boris #4) (Lil and Boris Mysteries) by Shannon Hill Page B

accept.”
    I heard her out. She’d raised me to be polite. Then I tossed my temper to the wind. “You want me to quit !”
    “No, dear, but Tom did a very good job as sheriff, and it would remove your relationship difficulties with Punk if you weren’t his boss.” Aunt Marge smiled tremulously. “Think of the stress it would save you. The headaches. The hassle with town council.”
    All good points, particularly the last one. Town council consisted of Ruth Campbell, who loathes me. Matt Lincoln, whose daughter I’d helped send to prison for kidnapping me. Our mayor, Maury, who likes me. Camp Brady, who probably couldn’t care less if I existed. And Mr. Shiflet, so quiet a man you could forget he was in the room.
    “You’d have a quieter life, Lil,” Aunt Marge continued, softening. “A longer one.”
    Her arguments had merit.
    I rejected them. “I was elected.”
    Her temper flared. “Lil, do not be bull-headed! It is for your own good! Maury would understand, everyone would!”
    A thousand responses flooded my head. One made it to my mouth. “How long before you ask me to stop being a cop completely?”
    One reason Aunt Marge and I have always been close is our ability to understand each other. Apparently, it had taken a vacation.
    Aunt Marge said, “Would that be so bad?”
    I lost the power of speech. All my childhood, I’d loved cop shows and cop movies, and wanted to be either a federal agent or a cop. Other girls gurgled about movie stars; I’d wished I could meet the guys who’d caught Ted Bundy. Aunt Marge knew that. She knew, but added mournfully, “It hasn’t brought you very much happiness, dear.”
    “I have work to do,” I said, and I left.

11.
    I t was Punk’s good luck that Agent Howard called me before I found him. A first look in the lab had shown what we’d already suspected. A guardian angel had worked overtime to see Quinn built that pipe bomb without killing himself. As it was, he’d needed surgery to remove some thumb tacks and glass shards that had penetrated his chest and abdomen. He’d escaped any serious harm to his spinal cord and organs, but only because he’d almost managed to make the pipe bomb directional. From what Howard said, by accident.
    It’s amazing how the thought of perforated intestines adjusts your perspective.
    Which didn’t mean I was calm. In fact, I was halfway to the office before I realized I’d left Boris at home. Where Aunt Marge no doubt was still waiting to talk to me about quitting.
    I decided Boris could use a day off.
    When I came through the door, Tom was seated at his desk. Hours before his shift. Wearing an expression that could’ve scared rocks. “Trouble?” I asked.
    “Tanya’s idea of a small wedding.” He brandished a book at me. I looked closer. It wasn’t a book. It was a magazine for brides. “Everything she circled costs four digits!”
    I craned my neck. There were three more magazines on his desk, neatly marked with post-it notes in baby-girl pink. “Tell me that’s not her color scheme.”
    “No,” said Tom morosely. “She wants something called…” He consulted a post-it note on the cover of a magazine. “Autumn splendor. You’re a woman. What the hell does that mean?”
    Bewildered, I shrugged. “Dang if I know.” I leaned in, scowled. “You’ll have to ask Bobbi. She knows this stuff, she’d be thrilled to be asked. Besides, you know she’ll end up doing the hair and make-up for the wedding party. Call her.” A second look at Tom, and I offered morosely, “You want someone to cry in a beer with, I’ll be your designated driver.”
    “Thanks. What’re you doing here?” Tom looked around. “Where’s Boris?”
    I gave him a very abbreviated version of the talk with Aunt Marge, and asked, “So, am I that lousy a sheriff?”
    “No,” said Tom, after a reassuringly thoughtful pause. “No, I get crap too, it’s just not as extreme.” He managed to smile, though it looked like he had nausea.