Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle Pauline Jones (the red fox clan txt) 📖

only place she hadn’t run into either was the bathroom, so that’s where she retreated to, hoping to sort things out in her mind.

Luci closed the lid, settled herself as comfortably as she could and pulled a notebook out of one pocket, a stubby pencil out of another. It was a pity that she and Mickey couldn’t have one of those cozy, confiding sleuth-cop relationships so popular in series mysteries. If she only knew what Mickey and Delaney knew—

Of course, being an insider, a Seymour who was in the family but not completely of it, gave her an edge that all the forensic investigation and computer databases in the country couldn’t give Mickey. She flipped open her notebook and started writing down questions:

1. Who was the other body in the freezer?

2. Why had Reggie moved in with her aunts?

3. Did her aunts kill both victims? Not likely, but couldn’t rule it out.

4. Was someone really trying to kill her? Why?

5. What was she going to do about Mickey Ross?

After the last question she added a notation in parentheses. Was it only his kiss that curled her toes or would just any guy do that to her?

Neatly, but with thick writing because the pencil was getting dull, Luci finished her list with:

6. Where is the body Boudreaux saw?

7. What kind of scam nets dollar bills?

8. Could Reggie have come up with a successful scam? How would that impact the space/time continuum?

9. Could Unabelle be a closet gambling addict?

10. What’s wrong with Velma?

11. Am I like my mother? Do I care?

It was a good list of questions. Too bad she didn’t have good answers to go with them. A knock at the door interrupted her ruminations. She sighed, stood up, stowed her pencil and notebook, and opened the door.

“I need to go,” Unabelle said with no inflection to her voice.

“Sorry.” Luci stepped past her, then stopped to ask, “You don’t know where a girl could place a bet, do you?”

For just a moment, so quick Luci almost missed it, something flickered in the mud brown of Unabelle’s eyes. Then the door closed between them.

“I’m not sure the lava lamp was a good idea,” Fern said as she tried to fit the wrapping paper around its odd shape. “A toaster—”

“I ain’t buying a new gift for someone I don’t know!” Donald scowled at her. “Now can we talk about how we’re gonna do the bitch?”

Fern gave him a look, then sighed. “Fine. But if I don’t get this wrapped, we don’t get in the door! Think the bulls won’t be suspicious of us coming to a posh party with some crappy gift in torn wrappers? Least we ought to have a box!”

“The pawn shop didn’t have no box, Fern. Like I told you—”

The discussion was briefly loud and acrimonious. Until someone in the next room banged on the wall.

Dante’s Aunt Cloris didn’t look like a gangster’s relative. She was at the high end of middle age with a bland face, uncertain eyes and a doughy body stuffed unevenly into a girdle. She tended to flutter—her eyelashes, her hands, her voice—when she was distressed, and let the stars and horoscopes rule her life. This was why Dante went to great lengths to keep her from getting upset. It annoyed the hell out of him—made him want to kill somebody, since he couldn’t kill her.

“You telling me Arvin didn’t tell you anything about his business? Didn’t even give you a phone number to call?”

“He called me every night. I didn’t need to call him,” she said, her voice wavering as she tried to control a sob. “He traveled, didn’t have a fixed number.”

“Do you know where he called from?” Dante tried to keep the edge out of his voice as he looked at the impassive Max. “We need something, somewhere to start a search.”

“He called from a lot of different places. His business took him all over the country. Besides, you just want to kill him—”

“I just want to talk to him. Bring him back to you if I can, so you’ll be happy again.”

She tried to give him a penetrating look, but her nose was running and tears blurred her eyes. “Duluth,” she finally admitted. “He did business in Duluth sometimes. And Salt Lake. And Cleveland. I think he might have worked with someone there.”

Dante looked at Max. “What makes you think he had a partner, Cloris?”

“He told me he had a partner.”

Dante hid his impatience. If only she’d told him—no sense worrying now. They’d find this partner. If he weren’t already lying on a slab in the morgue.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“No.”

“Okay. You did the right thing, for both you and Arvin, telling me. If you think of anything else, you just come and tell me, okay?” He patted her hand, giving Max a sharp nod towards the door. “Max and I are going to get things rolling. You just stay here until you feel better. Then I’ll take you out to choose a new dress for the party on Sunday. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Outside the door, Dante turned to Max. “Didn’t the snitch say something about contacting the Cleveland police?”

“That’s right. About Reggie Seymour.”

“Ten’ll get you one Reggie Seymour’s the partner.”

“You think Arvin Marvin or Artie did Seymour?”

“It does seem obvious, doesn’t it?” Dante was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Find him, Max. And do him. Quick and quiet.”

“Yes, Mr. Dante.”

“Oh, and find a wedding gift for this party thing. Something nice, Max. Like a toaster or one of those fancy plates. The kind with the gold around the edges.”

Dante frowned and Max shifted. “Anything wrong, Mr. Dante?”

“I’m worried about Benny. If the cops are on top of the Seymours—better pick him up. Keep him under wraps until we get the deal locked down.

It rained early the morning of the party, but as soon as the sun got going it turned the moisture into a fog of steam over the city. Luci’s aunts rose late, trailing peacefully downstairs attired