the autopsy comes back. And when they examine the findings in my yard. If it was my bees, there’ll be carcasses all over the place.”
“Are you pissed about something?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. I’m just waiting for the morning papers. Give me a shout if you need me.”
I was sort of pissed that my bees would take the blame when, if her death was the result of bee stings, they were probably only defending their hives. That finding, blaming my bees, could lead to passing laws against beekeeping in residential areas, which would be a terrible thing.
“You do the same,” she said.
I went back out to the front of the house to lock up for the night and noticed that my hammock appeared to have an occupant. It was Archie. He’d made it past my front door but not down the steps. It was a warm night. I took a picture of him with my iPhone and sent it to Mark. I just left him there. Hopefully, by the time I got up in the morning, he’d be gone.
I had a moment then to reflect on how many nights I’d gone to sleep wishing I was in his arms, and I thought I wasn’t so sure about that dream anymore. I wasn’t so sure about anything.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Strut Yo Stuff, Sugah
I was waiting for Char to come out of the bedroom, where she was trying on Momma’s latest creation. It was sensational in muslin, which was phase one to making a custom gown as complicated as the one Momma and Charlie had designed. The entire gown was first constructed in muslin, an inexpensive fabric, to be sure it draped properly. So if it looked good in cheap muslin, I could only imagine what it would look like in celery green metallic lamé.
I was so surprised by what Holly said, and I knew I didn’t respond with the right amount of concern. She must think I’m a coldhearted bitch. I wouldn’t blame her. Sometimes I was one and I knew it. I don’t know why she irked me so. Okay, yes, I know why she irks the ever-loving hell out of me, and when I tell you why, you can add petty and judgmental to the long list of my poor qualities.
My little sister was a martyr. I don’t know why she always acts like she’s being persecuted, but she does. She doesn’t want to stay home with Momma? Well, Momma ain’t home, so honey, go on, go over the causeway and go get that life you’re always mumbling about not having. And even if Momma does come home, there’s no one keeping you locked in, is there? Well, to hear her tell it, she was going to be blamed for Sharon’s death, which was absurd.
And she’s afraid of her own shadow. She’s never even had a parking ticket, much less a speeding ticket. The only people she’s really comfortable around are generally under five feet tall. Go figure that one out. Except for Archie.
And this stupid torch she’s been carrying for Archie? He’s not even that interesting, if you want my opinion, unless you are all hung up on the history of religion, which I am not. Although he was soon to be on the market again.
Sharon was dead? Found in our yard? It didn’t make sense. I’d call Holly as soon as I had a little time and see what the whole story was. But hey, ding-dong, the witch was dead. A cause for discreet celebration to be sure.
The bedroom door opened and Char stepped out into the living room.
“Wow!” I said. “Just wow!”
Celery green was definitely her color.
“You look like a movie star!” I said.
“Thanks!” Char said. “I love that it shimmers when I walk. Watch.”
Char sashayed through the living room to the front door and back to the bedroom.
“I hate to tell you this,” I said. “But this apartment is no longer worthy of your star power.”
“As soon as I have my own little club, we’ll move,” Char said. “Your mother is Christian Siriano!”
“I’m happy with it,” Momma said.
“You should be,” I said. “Wait until Suzanne sees this!”
I still could not believe that Katherine Jensen and Suzanne Velour, aka Buster Henry, USMC, Ret., were a number. Do you think the ladies of the Stella Maris Altar Society would understand? Approve? It was just such a long jump from lying in her bed, picking at Holly over every little thing, and satisfying her longings with catsuits. And by