Double Murders are Twice as Bad by Milo James Fowler

Author:Milo James Fowler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, detective, humor, parody, farce
Publisher: Effervescent Press
Published: 2018-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

21

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of Miss Oglethorpe pounding away on her Underwood. Finding myself on the floor and the door to the entryway of my home/office wide open, I groggily arose and shuffled inside, shutting the door behind me.

"Good morning, Boss," Miss Oglethorpe said brightly, glancing up from the typewriter on her desk. Seriously, I had no idea what she did on that machine all day. Composing her memoirs, perhaps? "Sleep well? I didn't want to wake you."

"Right." I glared at her noisy typing machine. The way she could carry on a conversation and stab away on that thing at the same time was incredible. Talking and walking was enough of a challenge for Vic Boyo. "Carry on," I muttered, heading into my living room.

I was relieved to find the kid and Maria right where I'd left them. Apparently, they both were able to sleep straight through Miss Oglethorpe's racket. Shutting the window behind my desk, I gave the room a once-over and shook my head. What the heck had that dead guy on the roof been looking for? Everything was out of order, but it was still in order, if you know what I mean. Nothing had been taken, by the looks of things.

I nudged the kid's shoulder, and he woke up halfway. "Hey, Boyo."

"Sleep all right?"

"Yeah." He winced, rubbing his head gingerly. "Got a bad headache, though."

A heater to the noggin could do that. I strode to where Maria lay on the couch and gave her shoulder a nudge as well.

"Boyo?" Her blue eyes widened, startled and confused, as though my office was the last place she would have expected to find herself.

"Yeah, Sweetheart. It's me all right."

She squeezed her eyes shut as she sat up, one hand to her forehead. "I don't remember how... How did I get here? Oh—wait a minute." She nodded slowly. "The fat man, he had me for a while."

"What do you remember about that?"

"Not much."

"Did he have his way with you?"

"What?"

"Never mind." I cleared my throat. "How about that phone call from the docks? You remember that?" Nearly had me killed in the process—death by fancy sports car.

"What call?" She frowned, perturbed. She rose from the couch and came to my desk where she leaned back against it. "Say, would you happen to have a cigarette?"

"Those things will kill you."

"Haven't yet."

I couldn't argue with that. But I held off on handing over a ciggy. I had a few more questions that needed answering. "How long were you with Fenemen? Or are you still?"

"You're confusing me, Boyo." She took a step toward me.

"He said you were with him and his outfit. What did he mean by that?"

"I beg your pardon." She put both hands on her shapely hips. "I don't remember anything of the sort."

"Maybe not. But I'm sure there's one thing you'll remember for sure: Fenemen said you know as much as my old pal Blakely and your dearly departed husband did before they were both rubbed out. He said if you weren't with him and his outfit, you'd be just as stiff as they are.

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