Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona Read Online Free PDF

hair pulled back by a headband. I help myself to java and in return for a plate of food submit to an interrogation about my late night at the Giant W. Then I pose a question of my own. “Have you seen Maggie yet this morning?”
    Shanelle keeps her voice low. “She’s not grieving too much to eat, I’ll tell you that.”
    “Well, to be fair she and Ingrid weren’t close. I think this last week is the first time they saw each other in like five years.”
    Shanelle shakes her head. “That’s sad. Anyway, she’s out running errands with your father. They said they’d be back soon.”
    I’m still inhaling my meal—I feed both colds and fevers—when Maggie and Pop blow in through the front door. “—glad I’ve got a big, strong man like you to carry all these groceries,” I hear Maggie say.
    “You know me,” Pop replies. “Always glad to help.”
    I sip my coffee. Now that I’ve been observing Maggie at close range for a few days, I’m starting to understand her hold on my father. It’s not just that she’s a sex kitten who’s also a card-carrying member of the AARP. It’s also that just like Pop, she’s big on traditional male / female roles. Sometimes I wonder if she’s one of those women who feign helplessness because they think it will make them more appealing to men. And with some men, I bet it does.
    Seconds later the two of them join us in the kitchen. Pop hoists the groceries atop the island and gives me a kiss on the head before disappearing to parts unknown.
    The Lindvig sisters may have shared DNA but their fashion choices had nothing in common. Where Ingrid always looked like she was dressed for a committee meeting, Maggie never saw a pair of jeans she judged too tight. She also owns quite the collection of snug sweaters featuring ultra-low V necks, one of which she’s sporting now.
    I rise to give her a hug. “I am so, so sorry about your sister.”
    She shakes her head. “It’s so hard to believe she’s gone.”
    We’re all silent. Then, “May I pour you some coffee?” I offer.
    “That would be nice.” She sighs as she accepts a mug. “I thought it would be good if Lou and I went to the grocery store. There isn’t enough food in this house. Of course with all her money my sister never learned to cook.”
    After an awkward silence I pipe up again. “I hope you’ll let me help with the arrangements, Maggie. I know Trixie and Shanelle want to as well.”
    “That’s so thoughtful of you, Happy. It’s women’s work, don’t you think? We should go to the funeral home right away, if you ask me.”
    “Maybe we should wait for the police to release Ingrid’s body,” I suggest.
    “I don’t think so,” Maggie says. “Waiting won’t make it any easier. Do you think the funeral home is open yet? It must be.”
    Shanelle raises her brows at me over Maggie’s head. As I make for the sink with my plate, I note magazines poking out of the grocery bags. I can’t help but read a few of the titles: Victorian Homes and House Beautiful .
    Maggie rises to her feet. “I’ll call the funeral home but first I want to look for a few things in Ingrid’s desk in the library.”
    I take a wild guess. “Like her will?”
    “Do you think it would be in there? That’s where I would’ve kept mine. I’ll look for it right now.” She abandons her coffee and scoots out of the kitchen at high speed.
    I am a pensive queen as I load the dishwasher. One data point I can ignore. Two, even. But I am getting smacked upside the head by evidence that only hours after her sister went to that big gingerbread Victorian in the sky, Maggie Lindvig is gearing up to assume Ingrid’s place here on earth as the mistress of Damsgard.
    I gesture for Shanelle to follow me upstairs. We waylay Trixie for an emergency tête-à-tête in my bedroom. I relay what I observed in the dead of night and Shanelle fills Trixie in on this morning’s developments.
    “Maggie is ready to put her sister in the ground,”