Frugal Lissa Finds a Body by Ritter Ames

Author:Ritter Ames
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ritter Ames
Published: 2019-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

WHEN I RETURNED TO our street from my bank-information-gathering errand, Mrs. G sat in a chair on her front porch, looking lovely in one of her pink Sunday dresses and waiting to do her civic duty at the police station. I rolled down my window and called out, “I’ll be a second. I need to put Honey in the backyard.” She waved in acknowledgement.

My sweet Lab met me at the front door. Probably recognized the sound of the Honda from five miles away, and I have to admit I appreciated the wiggly, tail-wagging greeting.

“Hello, gorgeous, did you miss me?” I used both hands to do a double ear scratch, and she grinned her pleasure. As we crossed the living room to get to the kitchen and the back door, I saw her scoop up her squeaky moose toy, and I laughed. Until my gaze landed on our Ooma phone unit, and I gasped. The message light blinked so furiously, I thought it was emergency SOS, and I hit the voicemail arrow hoping neither of my boys had been in an accident.

“Why didn’t they call my cell?” I said, but had no more time for that thought when the Ooma voice told me twenty-three messages awaited me. I leaned over the speaker, anxious to catch each word.

“First new message,” the recorded voice recited, before a callback request played from a reporter who wanted to talk to me. A second later, another reporter, then another. Reporters from all over Green Country, in all media, wanted to speak to me about the murder. By the time the last one gave a pitch for info, I was past being grateful my boys were fine, and wishing we didn’t have a phone—even if Ooma was the best five-dollars I paid every month. Who’d guess I’d want to throw the unit out the nearest window.

To make sure I didn’t have to listen to the phone ring all night, I pulled its plug from the wall. I’d still be able to go online that way and see who had called and/or left a message, but all the data wouldn’t appear on my phone so I had the tedious job of deleting each missed call one by one.

“Come on, Honey. Outside.” I pulled the moose from her mouth. “But this is your inside toy. It stays in the house. You have enough chew stuff in the yard.” Besides, all she really wanted was a belly rub. Honey had me trained: we played squeaky toy of some sort for about three minutes, then she’d grab the toy, dared me to try catching her, and when I did she rolled over and expected me to scratch her belly. Truthfully, I could save money giving her anything chewable for a toy—they were each only a run-up to a good belly scratching, anyway, but she did love making things squeak.

Five minutes later, she had fresh water out back, we’d had an abbreviated catch-me game and a too short reward rub with the promise for a better one soon, and I was in my car and pulling into Mrs.

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