Will You Marry Me? (Sam Darling Mystery Book 4) by Jerilyn Dufresne Page B
Authors: Jerilyn Dufresne
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turned to go in front of the diner instead of behind it, because I wanted to get to the front of the gas station where the grave was. I knew someone would be there.
I was happily surprised to see Jeremiah and George talking to an animated Wilma. I didn't see Luigi or Barclay anywhere, but was too much in a hurry to ask about them.
"Sam, I'm glad to see you," George said. "Where's your head?"
I touched my hair as if to remind myself that I was missing my head. "I lost it somewhere."
George laughed and repeated, "You lost your head."
I wanted to laugh with him but instead started crying. He immediately put his arm around me.
Wilma said, "Are you okay?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. So much has happened."
"Tell us," Jeremiah commanded.
So I did. Starting with the attack of the nerd chicken all the way to leaving Chip and Jim Bob in charge of watching the hallway--and each other.
Wilma said, "I'll go check them out."
Jeremiah said, "I'll go with you and question them."
George said, "I'll go with Sam to find the guy who attacked her."
All three spoke practically at the same time and my head was swimming. George still had his arm around me and was practically lifting me off the ground with his protectiveness.
"I'm okay, honey. I just felt overwhelmed. I can walk. But I don't mind if you want to keep your arm around me though." He did.
We walked into the front of the motel, which was the quickest way to get to the convention room.
George swung open the door as if he were John Wayne entering a saloon to confront the cowboy in black. It seemed like a gazillion chicken heads all turned in unison. Maybe not so much to see George, but to see me in one of their suits but lacking a head.
"Who's the jerk who attacked my girlfriend?"
There wasn't a sound. Not one. Well, except for the loud beating of my heart. George was my hero anyway, but never more so than at that moment. I wanted to grab him and kiss him but thought it would probably detract from the gravity of the situation.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity, a smallish chicken raised a wing and said, "Cluck?" in the tiniest of voices. I almost felt sorry for him, but also pleased that he had the courage to admit what he'd done. That stopped me from having to look at every single guy there.
"Come with me," George said. And the chicken did.
We walked into a smaller meeting room across the hall and George told the guy to take off his head. Without hesitating, he did so.
Yep, it was my admirer all right.
"Why did you grab me?" I couldn't wait to talk.
"You told me you wanted to have sex!" he exclaimed, still sounding scared.
"I did no such thing," saying it more for George's sake than the guy's.
"Yes, you did," he said.
"How did she say it?" asked, George, the voice of reason. "What words did she use?"
"She didn't use words," the man was practically whining. "She clucked it."
"I DID NOT!"
"Yes, you did," he repeated. "When your cluck went up and then down. That's what it means. It means, 'I want to have sex with you. NOW!' I mean it's an emphatic way of saying it. No foreplay. Nothin'. Just sex as soon as possible." He looked at George. "I promise. And I had no way of knowing she wasn't a real chicken."
"None of you are real chickens," I said.
"You know what I mean. I had no way of knowing you weren't one of us."
I sighed loudly. What should I do? This almost-pathetic creature in front of me wasn't a typical rapist. Not that I knew what a typical rapist looked like. My vibes were dormant and my empathy was turned up to high.
I turned to George. "Let him go."
"What?" George yelled. He never yelled.
Pulling him aside, I said to the attack chicken, "Stay right there."
We walked to a corner of the room. I looked at George as steadily as I could and said, "I think he's telling the truth. Find out who he is and what motel room he's in. Tell him not to leave town. Then ask Jim Bob if the guy is being straight with us."
George scratched his head, then shook
I was happily surprised to see Jeremiah and George talking to an animated Wilma. I didn't see Luigi or Barclay anywhere, but was too much in a hurry to ask about them.
"Sam, I'm glad to see you," George said. "Where's your head?"
I touched my hair as if to remind myself that I was missing my head. "I lost it somewhere."
George laughed and repeated, "You lost your head."
I wanted to laugh with him but instead started crying. He immediately put his arm around me.
Wilma said, "Are you okay?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. So much has happened."
"Tell us," Jeremiah commanded.
So I did. Starting with the attack of the nerd chicken all the way to leaving Chip and Jim Bob in charge of watching the hallway--and each other.
Wilma said, "I'll go check them out."
Jeremiah said, "I'll go with you and question them."
George said, "I'll go with Sam to find the guy who attacked her."
All three spoke practically at the same time and my head was swimming. George still had his arm around me and was practically lifting me off the ground with his protectiveness.
"I'm okay, honey. I just felt overwhelmed. I can walk. But I don't mind if you want to keep your arm around me though." He did.
We walked into the front of the motel, which was the quickest way to get to the convention room.
George swung open the door as if he were John Wayne entering a saloon to confront the cowboy in black. It seemed like a gazillion chicken heads all turned in unison. Maybe not so much to see George, but to see me in one of their suits but lacking a head.
"Who's the jerk who attacked my girlfriend?"
There wasn't a sound. Not one. Well, except for the loud beating of my heart. George was my hero anyway, but never more so than at that moment. I wanted to grab him and kiss him but thought it would probably detract from the gravity of the situation.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity, a smallish chicken raised a wing and said, "Cluck?" in the tiniest of voices. I almost felt sorry for him, but also pleased that he had the courage to admit what he'd done. That stopped me from having to look at every single guy there.
"Come with me," George said. And the chicken did.
We walked into a smaller meeting room across the hall and George told the guy to take off his head. Without hesitating, he did so.
Yep, it was my admirer all right.
"Why did you grab me?" I couldn't wait to talk.
"You told me you wanted to have sex!" he exclaimed, still sounding scared.
"I did no such thing," saying it more for George's sake than the guy's.
"Yes, you did," he said.
"How did she say it?" asked, George, the voice of reason. "What words did she use?"
"She didn't use words," the man was practically whining. "She clucked it."
"I DID NOT!"
"Yes, you did," he repeated. "When your cluck went up and then down. That's what it means. It means, 'I want to have sex with you. NOW!' I mean it's an emphatic way of saying it. No foreplay. Nothin'. Just sex as soon as possible." He looked at George. "I promise. And I had no way of knowing she wasn't a real chicken."
"None of you are real chickens," I said.
"You know what I mean. I had no way of knowing you weren't one of us."
I sighed loudly. What should I do? This almost-pathetic creature in front of me wasn't a typical rapist. Not that I knew what a typical rapist looked like. My vibes were dormant and my empathy was turned up to high.
I turned to George. "Let him go."
"What?" George yelled. He never yelled.
Pulling him aside, I said to the attack chicken, "Stay right there."
We walked to a corner of the room. I looked at George as steadily as I could and said, "I think he's telling the truth. Find out who he is and what motel room he's in. Tell him not to leave town. Then ask Jim Bob if the guy is being straight with us."
George scratched his head, then shook
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