Miss Julia Strikes Back by Ross Ann B

Author:Ross, Ann B. [Ross, Ann B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Humour, Modern
ISBN: 0143113305
Google: QY48oNDk_tcC
Amazon: 0143113305
Barnesnoble: 0143113305
Goodreads: 187756
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2007-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

It was almost full dark when the three of us walked through the packed parking lot toward Maxey’s Seafood, Bar & Grill, and even darker when we got inside. I stopped in my tracks right inside the door, so taken aback that I couldn’t take another step. Etta Mae and Mr. Tuttle crowded up behind me as I stood stock-still, amazed at the congested mass of humanity milling around in that loud, smoke-filled room. There were the biggest, burliest men I’d ever seen hanging on to the bar and the loosest, most wanton women hanging on to them. The crowd rippled and eddied and swirled in on itself, smoke hung in a hazy cloud, the odor of alcohol assaulted my senses, the blaring beat of the jukebox throbbed under the yelling, talking, and shouts of laughter, and every last one of those merrymakers had a glass or a bottle in hand. Out of the midst of the din, an occasional curse word pierced the commotion, and even worse, I do believe that every man and half the women had a handgun on a belt or under a shoulder. Mr. Tuttle had been right: It wasn’t my kind of place.

Miss Wiggins stopped close behind me, and standing on tiptoes to look around, she said, “Oh, Toby Keith, I love him! You like to dance, Frank?”

He didn’t answer, just jabbed a finger past my head and growled, “Dining room’s that way. Go straight through and stay there.”

“This is awful,” I said. “You can’t hear yourself think.”

“Don’t complain to me,” he said, surveying the crowd and speaking from the side of his mouth. “I warned you. Now move out of the door and go find a table.”

I straightened my shoulders, took a grip on my pocketbook, and let Etta Mae lead the way. She cut a swath through the crowd as every male eye turned to follow her.

We marched through that roiling mass of men and women, silencing them as we passed, me in my lavender crepe and off-white Naturalizer pumps and Etta Mae in her tight jeans. I looked neither to the left nor the right, telling myself that it was no worse than walking into church when every member, including the pastor, turned to see who was coming in late.

It was considerably quieter and less crowded in the back room, but there was no lessening of the number of beer bottles and suspicious-looking glasses on the tables. And, would you believe, some of the clientele hiding out in the back room were wearing law enforcement uniforms? I thought of writing a letter to the editor, complaining about such blatant disregard for the dignity of the profession. You would never see such a thing in Abbotsville.

Etta Mae and I took the first empty booth, sliding in opposite each other, since I was in no mind to wait to be seated. Good thing, too, for I never did see a hostess.

“Here’s the menu, Etta Mae,” I said. “It seems limited, but order whatever you want.

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