Debits and Credits by Lyn Fraser

Author:Lyn Fraser [Fraser, Lyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A Grace Edna Edge Mystery
Publisher: Mainly Murder Press
Published: 2013-12-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Police Records

On the way to Sally’s condo I make two stops, the first to salve my ego with a double meat and cheese Whataburger; the other at Bluebonnet Pharmacy to salve the oozing gash on my leg.

At the pharmacy counter Simone is holding forth with a customer about side effects. Again I try to recall how I know her but can’t come up with a connection by the time she finishes her lecture on rashes, sleeplessness and diarrhea.

With no preamble, I request peroxide, first aid cream and bandages large enough to cover the cut on my leg, which I lift up to show Simone. As I’m lifting Simone bends partially over the counter to view the gash, and makes sympathetic murmurs. Her earrings jangle, an attractive chain of multi-sized quadrilaterals, which I recognize as the distinctive work of Aldeen’s daughter.

Church. That must be where I’ve seen Simone.

“Do you go to St. Barnabas?” I ask in my Christian-love-and-fellowship voice. “Episcopal.”

She looks somewhat puzzled and shakes her head.

“I know you from somewhere, and I’ve been racking my brain, trying to remember where. Do you know what I mean?”

Simone looks sideways at one of the pharmacists, who’s waving at her, and provides me with an even better view of the earrings.

“The reason I thought St. Barnabas is the jewelry, because they had a sale of them at the church last week. I know the artist, or I should say the artist’s mother, and that prompted me to think church. Your lovely earrings.”

“Oh, thanks, but I bought them at a street fair in East Austin. I remember a little card in the box with info about the artist. I agree, they’re sweet, but they didn’t come from any church.”

She probably thinks I’m one of those people who knock on doors with salvation leaflets.

“I wasn’t trying to evangelize you. Quite frankly, I don’t believe in that missionary sort of thing, and I apologize if …”

“You’ll find the peroxide on aisle three. The bandages and the cream you’ll want for that ooze are on five.” Simone walks to the far end of the counter and takes a stack of receipts from the waving pharmacist.

“Well, that went well,” I say to the counter display of seasonal cold remedies. She now thinks I’m an evangelical pervert.

When I’m paying for my purchases, I see Simone behind the deli counter, drawing a drink from the fountain dispenser. I consider sidling over and trying again with a companionable lemonade or cranberry juice, thinking it might be useful to have an ally behind the Bluebonnet prescription counter. Before I can make up my mind, she’s already back in her side-effects pulpit with another customer.

Next up is Aunt Arrow, who opens the door to my knock, which is helpful because my hands are full of first aid products, and I’m walking with a slight limp.

“Oh, honey, what have you done to yourself now? Come sit, and let’s get that cleaned up.” She ministers to my wound with compassionate efficiency and finds a dry pair of socks in Sally’s drawer.

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