It's a Wonderful Knife Read Online Free PDF Page A

as ACB removed her cape and tossed it on my flowered sofa.
    â€œTrixie, how about if I take Blondie home with me?” he asked.
    Blondie was already four paws ahead of him.Apparently she had already planned on moving in with Ty tonight anyway.
    â€œSure.” It would save me from trying to get up to let Blondie out to potty.
    Ty got his black cowboy hat, put it on, and gave the top a quick tap. “See you ladies tomorrow. Call me if you need me.”
    â€œYou got it, Deputy Brisco,” ACB said. “But I have everything under control.”
    I yawned. “Thanks again, Ty.”
    He tweaked the brim of his hat. Have I mentioned yet how much I loved it when he did that?
    After Ty left, ACB turned to me. “Would you like something to drink?”
    â€œNo. Thanks anyway, but I could go for a trip to the bathroom. Would you get my crutches?” They were just a hair out of my reach.
    â€œSure.”
    Just as she reached for one to hand it to me, rubber side first, she misjudged the length and sent my twelve-inch, beautifully painted, ceramic turkey flying across the room. It landed, minus its head, at my feet.
    â€œShoot! I’m so sorry, Trixie.” ACB looked like she was about to cry. “It was your aunt Stella’s, wasn’t it? It had to be over sixty years old.”
    First my special Santa cocoa mug broke, and now my favorite turkey that I remembered as a kid. Aunt Stella would put it out for Thanksgiving, and I named it Thomasina, because I was sure it was a girl.
    Thomasina became mine when I bought the point. Each Thanksgiving when I brought her out, I sat withher on my lap, admiring every brushstroke and lamenting how much I liked to eat turkey—not only on Thanksgiving, but throughout the year, too.
    Sorry, Thomasina.
    I swallowed the lump in my throat. The mug and ceramic turkey were only inanimate objects, after all.
    â€œThe turkey can be glued, and it’ll be as good as new,” I said. “Please don’t worry. Just put the pieces in the kitchen, and I’ll find the glue. But first, can you help me get up?”
    She set both parts of Thomasina on the coffee table and supercarefully handed me the other crutch.
    I pulled myself up to my feet—or should I say to my foot—and with Antoinette Chloe’s help, I stood. Then dizziness set in just as my stomach churned.
    Thinking of the less than delightful takeout from the Ride ’Em Cowboy Saloon, I knew I had to hurry out of the room, go through the sitting room, then the kitchen, then the walk-in pantry, then the laundry room. The bathroom was off the laundry room, out of the way of the kitchen.
    I’ll spare you the details, but after my mission was completed, I decided to throw in a load of laundry and fold the clothes that had been in the dryer since that morning.
    Balancing myself and trying not to breathe because my ribs hurt, I unloaded the dryer and put everything in a laundry basket. Oh, I found a nightgown!
    I slipped everything off that I could, stepped out of my cut-up jeans, and let the soft blue flannel of my nightgown warm me.
    When I walked out, Antoinette Chloe was at my oak kitchen table with my notebook and calendar, groaning and moaning.
    Did you write this in Polish?” she asked. “It’s a mess. From what I can tell, you’re missing Chet and Lottie Campbell’s fiftieth wedding anniversary on the second of December on your calendar. You have a menu in your notebook, though. You do have an entry for Louise McDowney’s bridal shower.”
    Two bookings for one day. “Good catch, Antoinette Chloe, but I’ll think about it all tomorrow.”
    My house phone rang, and I jumped. At two in the morning, it couldn’t be good news.
    ACB was already up and answering. “Trixie’s house. Antoinette Chloe speaking. Oh, hi, Linda. Is everything okay?”
    Linda Blessler was subbing for me at the diner on the graveyard