Poison Ivory by Tamar. Myers

Author:Tamar., Myers, [Tamar., Myers,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-03-21T10:26:28+00:00

C.J.’s stories are always fantastic, in every sense of

the word. I used to think that she pulled them

straight from the pages of supermarket tabloids,

but—and this is almost too creepy to contemplate—

I’ve come to discover that most of them have more

than a kernel of truth to them. Some might even

have a large ear of truth.

Without being asked to share, and before any

introductions could be made, C.J. launched into a

strange tale of alien abduction. (These were aliens

from outer space, by the way, not amigos from

south of the border.) At some point during the

night she’d awakened to find four small beings

gathered around her, as she lay on a platform of

some kind, and these strange beings were prob

ing her with index fingers that were over a foot

long. C.J. got the distinct impression that they

were on a spaceship. When I asked her to describe

the aliens further, she said that they had large

smooth heads, huge almond-shaped eyes, and

they were all about my size.

“Just think, Abby,” she said, “if you ever get

abducted, you’ll have no problem finding clothes

that fit you.”

According to the big galoot, the aliens per

formed all manner of medical tests on her, and

were particularly interested in her problematic

DNA. Apparently it had shown up on some of

their monitors.

“When I told them that I might be part goat,

they got real excited,” she said, breathless from

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P O I S O N I V O R Y

her recitation. “They made a beeline back to earth

and to a pasture I told them about near Shelby

where this couple raises a huge flock of Nubians.

The next thing I know, I’m back in bed in Charles

ton, and it’s the middle of the afternoon. After I

got dressed I came straight over here. Sorry again

for being late.”

I glanced at Phillip Canary. He was not only

staring wide-eyed at the poor gal, I could tell by

his posture that every muscle in his body was on

standby for the fight or flight command. Frankly, I

was tempted to shout Boo!

Instead I said, “C.J., this is Mr. Canary. Mr.

Canary, this is Mrs. Washburn, my sister-in-law.”

“Soon to be ex-sister-in-law,” C.J. said, and gig

gled.

“Nice seeing you ladies. ’Bye.” With that the

talented artist (as well as supertalented singer)

fled my office like palmetto bugs when lights get

turned on.

A good friend is someone who will listen to your

troubles. A true friend is someone who loves you

enough to set you straight, even if it means strain

ing the friendship. As C.J. and Wynnell were al

ready up to their armpits in the trap I’d set for the

importer of illegal ivory, I decided to come clean

to Bob Steuben.

Bob is like a gay priest who came out of the

closet but never sought the holy orders, and never

abused anyone. That is to say, he walks as straight

and narrow a path—so to speak—as any man I

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T a m a r M y e r s

know. Bob doesn’t gossip, Bob doesn’t lie, Bob

doesn’t cheat (not even on his taxes), Bob doesn’t

wish anyone ill will (not even his partner’s

mother), Bob is slow to anger, Bob doesn’t judge—

well, the list goes on and on. And although

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