Murder, Curlers, and Cream: A Valentine Beaumont Mystery (The Murder, Curlers Series Book 1) by Arlene McFarlane

Author:Arlene McFarlane [McFarlane, Arlene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ParadiseDeer Publishing
Published: 2016-11-08T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

I woke up the next morning, feeling exhausted and out of sorts without a clue why. Okay, maybe I did know why. And it wasn’t Romero. It had more to do with enduring a failed date I didn’t even want. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

I showered, ate breakfast, then yanked on a dress, riding out the pity theme. My clothes didn’t shout loser, so why did I feel like one? I was a good person, wasn’t I? I kept on a useless employee when sharp business sense told me otherwise. I went out of my way to style hair at the retirement homes. I visited the hospital kids frequently. What kind of loser did those things?

I bent my head forward and brushed my hair, still counting deeds. I called my parents often. I believed in God. I gave to the homeless. I even fed stray animals.

I flung my hair back and let the waves go where they pleased. I wasn’t in the mood to coax curls. I stroked on an extra coat of mascara and made a decision. I was officially done with blind dates. Finito! All I had to do was sell my mother on the idea. Today.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Good enough. I hadn’t been to church since the perm-rod case. I was due for a major tuning.

I phoned Phyllis and told her I’d be there by one to take her to the Cotton Gin. It wasn’t a major modification, but it was a good start.

I cruised to St. Luke’s Anglican Church and had a few private words with God during the service about my present situation. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for anything, so I gave thanks for my meddling family, my zany staff, my pathetic life, and for healing Brody’s granddaughter Kylie.

After the service, I walked down the front steps into the sunshine. I should’ve felt at peace after leaving church, but I didn’t. I felt jumpy, and something niggled at me. A square-peg-in-a-round-hole feeling. Something didn’t belong. And then I saw it—Pace’s truck parked at the curb ahead of three other cars.

I tensed and revulsion snaked through me. What was he doing here? He certainly wasn’t in church. All right. It was a free world. He could’ve been here for any number of reasons. Visiting a friend. Putting up a roof. I didn’t hear any hammering, and that jittery feeling persisted. Just as I was deciding what to do about it, the truck pulled away from the curb and sped away.

* * *

I slowly drove through town on my way to my parents’. Sunday traffic was light, and you could count the cars on the street. Nevertheless, I kept looking over my shoulder like someone was following me. I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t help myself.

I stopped for a red light and glanced to my left at shops lining the downtown core. My gaze stopped at Karate King. The narrow storefront had SELF-DEFENSE CLASSES and a phone number written in black ink on the window.

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