Death of a Domestic Diva

Death of a Domestic Diva Read Online Free PDF

Book: Death of a Domestic Diva Read Online Free PDF
Author: Sharon Short
Worthy ripped off the top ticket and handed it to me. “Speeding,” he said. The next one. “Reckless driving.” Then one more. “And failure to stop for a police officer.”
    He left then, and I sat there for a moment, still looking at the three tickets in my one hand and the coffee-stained letter to Tyra Grimes in my other hand.
    Then I folded up the tickets and put them in my glove compartment. I put my letter to Tyra Grimes back on the passenger seat.
    Fancy marbleized stationery, that’s what she’d think, I told myself. I drove on—going fairly slow now—knowing that somehow my friend Winnie Porter’d make me feel better. She’d know how to get my letter to Tyra Grimes.
    Then I rounded the curve and pulled up to Ed Crowley’s place—just in time to see her big red-and-white bookmobile pulling away.
    Two weeks, four days, and six hours later, on a Sunday afternoon at my apartment, my boyfriend Owen said softly, “Now Josie, you do understand that you’re not going to hear from Tyra Grimes, don’t you?”
    I glared at him.
    â€œI mean, not today,” he went on hastily. “Not on a Sunday. There’s no mail today and you can’t expect a business call. You even close the laundromat on Sundays, and . . . Josie? Aren’t you ever going to cheer up?”
    I closed my eyes and groaned.
    You see, I did catch up with Winnie and the bookmobile right after she pulled away from Ed Crowley’s place. I told her about the map and my plan and showed her my letter to Tyra Grimes, which she looked at for a while until she finally said, yes, if you squinted at it just so it really did look like fancy marbleized stationery, which she was sure someone of Ms. Grimes’s grand taste would truly appreciate. Winnie adores Tyra Grimes. She has taped every one of Tyra’s shows—and cataloged them.
    Then she looked through some thick reference volumes she keeps just below the back desk (built in, so it won’t slide around), and frowned and said, “Hmmm.” Then she poked on the computer, up front behind the driver’s seat, and frowned and said, “Hmmm.” Then she called someone at the main library, and frowned and said, “Hmmm.” Then she repeated the whole process, only this time through she frowned and said, “Uh huh, uh huh,”—a change in gutteralities I found encouraging. Sure enough, Winnie finally found it—the direct and specific address to Tyra Grimes’s office, not just a general TV show address. Winnie is magical when it comes to research.
    So I addressed the envelope and mailed it.
    But now here it was, Sunday afternoon, two and a half weeks later. Paradisites elsewhere had moved on with their lives—so I could now run my laundromat without being teased—but I was stuck. Stuck with a book I didn’t really want to read— The Idiot’s Guide to Home Decorating and Style in General . Winnie’d made me check it out because she said I should have at least a basic parlance with such matters if I was going to be on the Tyra Grimes Home Show .
    Which it didn’t look like I was.
    â€œHow about we go see Guy?” Owen said gently.
    I opened one eye and looked at Owen. My community college professor, book-loving boyfriend was cute, I decided, in a goofy way, with his goatee and mustache and long, thin blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.
    â€œWe haven’t done that for three weeks. What do you say, Josie?”
    I opened my other eye and grinned.
    â€œBless you,” I said. I stood up, headed for my fridge. A six-pack of Big Fizz diet cola, and I was ready to go.
    â€œYou could even wear your new Tyra Grimes T-shirt!” he said.
    I turned and gave him a look.
    â€œUh—I guess that wasn’t such a great suggestion.”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t—but not for the reason you’re thinking.”
    On the drive over to Stillwater, I’d
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