Sky high pies 36- Bullets & barbecue by Mary Maxwell

Author:Mary Maxwell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2019-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

“I ran into someone from your past yesterday,” I announced when my mother answered the phone that night. “Do you want to guess who we talked about?”

She issued a sigh that threatened to last for all time.

“And before you ask,” I added, “it wasn’t Peggy Narducci. I saw the email that you forwarded to Olivia and me.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” she said. “I wanted my daughters to know that Peg was raving about you both on the phone last night. Her oldest son won some kind of big deal prize from some group, and I don’t want you to think that your achievements aren’t appreciated.”

“The honor that Benny received is called a MacArthur Fellowship,” I said. “It’s given to people who use their creativity in a variety of ways to make the world a better place.”

“She kept calling it the Genius Award,” my mother grumbled. “Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous? I remember when Benny wet his pants at the fifth grade—”

“Hey! That’s not nice! Ben’s a really gifted plant biologist now.”

“Whatever that is,” she sniped.

“Okay, should I call you tomorrow? It sounds like you’re having a grumpy evening.”

“Everything was peachy until Peg sent me a text with a picture of Benny and his award,” she said. “Talk about rubbing salt in a wound. They’re giving Benny more than six-hundred thousand dollars just for fiddling around with a bunch of plants.”

“Oh, brother,” I said. “I’ll try you again tomorrow sometime. You’ll bring me down if I listen to enough of this moping and whining.”

She was silent.

“Mom?”

“Shh!” she whispered into the phone. “I don’t want to bring you down.”

“It was Marisa Carlson,” I said in a firm, crisp tone. “I went to her shop and we chatted for a few minutes yesterday afternoon. We talked a little about what happened when she worked for you at Sky High.”

Once again, there was no reply.

“I know that you heard me,” I said after a few moments.

“That’s true,” my mother replied. “I heard you, but I’m not sure what to say.”

“What about something simple and easy?” I suggested. “Like, ‘How is Marisa?’”

“Okay,” she murmured. “How is Marisa?”

“Still angry,” I said. “But I’ve seen that kind of endless resentment before.”

“What kind is that?”

“The kind that grows from unresolved disputes or festering confusion.”

My mother snickered. “Welcome to my world,” she said. “Where things fester and go without being resolved for years and years.”

“Stop that,” I said. “You’re blessed beyond measure.”

“I know,” she said. “But I still like to natter on. It’s what the women in our family do.”

I scoffed. “Not all of them.”

“True,” she said. “You and Olivia don’t natter nearly enough.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “I went to see Marisa because she witnessed something at the Rockin’ Ribs Festival on Sunday.”

“She did? Like what?”

“There’s a chance that she saw the shooter,” I said.

“Marisa Carlson? What was she doing at the festival in the first place?”

“I don’t know if she was looking for parking so she could go inside or if she was just driving by,” I said.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.