Murder, Mayhem and 4 of a Kind (High Cotton Mysteries Book 1) by Duffy Brown

Author:Duffy Brown [Brown, Duffy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Duffy Brown
Published: 2023-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Friends Close, Enemies Closer

“Well, your great idea of calling the cops on Aunt Adaline earlier today backfired big time,” I said to Jasper Jones. He was behind the crowded bar at Shakesbeer’s Hideout wearing a brown apron stenciled with Two Beer or Not Two Beer. The packed tavern was English Pub with a touch of Old South. Ratan tables and chairs were clustered about. Stools lined the wood bar that looked as if it were cut from one long slice of tree, leaving the bark edge, and showing off the wood grain.

Waiters hustled around, serving the five o’clock happy-hour crowd. A mural of The Bard hoisting a frothy mug took up the back wall. Lists of micro-brews like Toil and Trouble, Ides of March, and Et Tu, Brute? were posted on a blackboard. Elvis blared from one of those arched jukeboxes that played actual vinyl records of all things. A hint of something grilled and delicious wafted through the air, reminding me I hadn’t eaten all day. Nor had I showered. Did I really have on the same clothes for the last forty-eight hours? Good grief!

Yeah, I should have gone home and cleaned myself up, but two things wouldn’t wait for shampoo and soap. First of all, I was totally pissed at Jasper over calling the cops. Secondly, and a bit more level-headed, I was a woman on a mission. A WWBD mission...What Would Benson Do.

Benson was older, wore gray suits with blue shirts and striped ties. He smelled of mints and tobacco, and was someone important in the government, though I never saw any Vote for Benson posters. He had a little mustache, introduced me to The Constitution, filet mignon, crème brulee, my first taste of Pinot Noir. And he taught me that keeping friends close and enemies closer was a very important life lesson.

Jasper put a frosted beer in front of me and leaned across the bar. “Come to beat me up?”

“For your information, Mr. Know-it-all,” I said, my voice blending with the tavern hubbub. “Aunt Adaline is not left-handed. Fact is, her left arm is in a sling, seen by one and all of Savannah, and the coroner has it that Payton Wilder was clobbered by a leftie. The only fingerprints on the teapot were Aunt Adaline’s and her right hand. I just packed the aunts into an Uber and sent them home after a trying day, all thanks to the likes of you. At least Aunt Adaline is off the hook.”

“Miss Flossy’s left-handed.” Jasper snagged a slider sandwich from a passing tray and put it in front of me. It was dripping barbecue sauce around the edges, a dollop of potato salad to the side. It was the good kind of potato salad, with a hint of mustard, a touch of pimento and crumbles of deviled egg. For a second, I lost all train of thought.

“There’s a little drop of drool at the corner of your mouth, counselor.” Jasper handed me a napkin.

I dabbed my lips and continued with my hissy fit.

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