1 Target of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

eventually.”
    I stared at Marilyn, trying to determine if
she was being truthful or not. She sure seemed upset, but if her husband was
really on the prowl, it was reasonable to assume she might have a very good
reason to want him dead. Back home, I knew more than a few women folk who’d off
their husbands in a hot minute if they strayed. Another reason to add to my
list of why I didn’t want to get married or entangled with a man.
    “Is there anything else you remember from
that morning? Was anything out of place?” I asked.
    Marilyn frowned. “I’m not sure what you
mean by that?”
    “Marilyn, what Sassy means… oops, I mean,
Tammy, is did the house look like it usually did in the morning?”
    Marilyn twitched her nose and said, “Well,
it was odd that the coffee wasn’t made. I mean, Clayton always made his own in
the morning before he headed out.”
    “I see. Well, I suppose that’s hardly a
reason to think foul play was at hand, but I don’t know many people who would
head straight out without a few cups of coffee in the morning,” Margarita said
wistfully.
    “Does your husband work in the morning?” I
asked.
    “Yes, he’s a machinist at Hank’s Tool and
Die, but yesterday was Saturday and he was off.”
    “And what does he usually do when he’s not
at work?” I asked.
    She frowned. “He usually hangs out with his
friends, Barry Haskel and Marty Novak.”
    “I take it from your frown that you don’t
much care for them?”
    Her lips turned down. “Not at all. Neither
of those men do much besides hang out in the bar and drink at Miceli’s Corner.”
    Margarita bit her balled up hand in
response. “Oh, my. That’s not good.” I shot Margarita a look until she added,
“It’s a nudie bar in Harrison, not far away.”
    A smile split my face. “Really, this far
north of the equator? And here I thought that was frowned on in the north.”
    Dixie chuckled. “Now, Tammy, it’s not like
this is the Bible belt like where you’re from.”
    “Oh, but I thought the Big Easy had plenty
in the way of adult entertainment?” Margarita asked.
    “Sure, but not near the Bayou, where we
live. Sure, New Orleans has plenty, but it’s not like I would know firsthand.”
    Dixie about busted a gut over that one. “Oh,
no. Miss Tammy here is as pure as a freshly made mud puddle.”
    I glared at Dixie and explained to Marilyn
that Dixie and I were from Louisiana.
    She eyed us suspiciously. “If you’re from
way down south, then why are you here asking me questions about my husband?”
    “I’m in town for the winter festival, like
Margarita said, but when I heard your husband ... you know, was murdered. I
just had to find out who might have done it.” Now that sounded absolutely
ridiculous.
    “Actually, it was my idea,” Margarita said.
“I convinced the girls to help me find out who might have killed poor Clayton.
I know we’re not as close as we used to be, but we’re still family.”
    Marilyn’s eyes widened as she stared at us.
“So you’d have me believe that you and these southern belles are planning to
launch an unauthorized investigation into what happened to my Clayton?”
    “Southern belles we’re not,” I clarified. “My
mamma raised me to be ladylike, but my daddy raised me to raise hell.”
    “So what do you consider yourself to be?”
    “Just a normal woman from the Deep South
who likes to have fun.” When Marilyn’s face dropped, I quickly added, “Back
home, we’ve done some investigating of our own.”
    “Yes,” Dixie said. “One of our neighbors
lost her pot-bellied pig once.”
    “Oh, and how did that turn out?”
    “Gators got him, I suspect,” I said. “It’s
sorta hard to prove that sort of thing.”
    Marilyn set her tissues on a nearby table.
“I see. Well, I suppose that might qualify you, but what if the sheriff finds
out you plan to meddle in his investigation?”
    “We weren’t planning to tell him, for one,”
Margarita said. “We’re not