Murder is the Pits Read Online Free PDF Page A

to
me.
    Frannie May, a.k.a. Fran Annina, was my
co-worker at the Marine Conservation Center. A wealthy, Italian
widow in her sixties, Frannie had taken me under her wing and
become a good friend to us all. She was also feisty, á la Penny
Sue. She showed her stuff in our pursuit of renegade bikers by
kicking the butt of a man a foot and a half taller. No kidding, she
literally kicked his butt. I did a mental chuckle at the memory of
Frannie hanging from the guy’s neck, her legs flailing for all she
was worth.
    “Frannie?” Ruthie repeated.
    “She’s in Boston. Her sister’s in the
hospital.”
    “What about Carl?” Ruthie continued.
    Carl was Frannie’s genius son. He was also a Star Trek fan who engaged in role playing games with his
MIT-educated buddies. Carl played a Klingon, other friends played
Romulans. They kept reenacting something called the Battle of
Khitomer. This battle was apparently a big deal in alien circles.
I’d intended to get old Star Trek tapes and look it up, but
never found the time. I had tried to fix my daughter up with Carl,
but it didn’t work. She wasn’t a Trekkie. A shame. A good-looking
millionaire, who was kind to his mother, Carl Annina was a catch by
almost anyone’s standards. Anyone except my Ann, who wasn’t drawn
to the Trekkie stuff. Oh, well, Ann Annina was a tongue twister. “I
know he’s working on a project, but he may be in town. Why do you
ask?”
    Ruthie began to pace. “I’d like to think
there’s someone around if we need help.”
    “How about Deputy Ted?” Penny Sue said
brightly.
    Ted Moore was a very nice guy who worked for
the Volusia County Sheriff’s office. Recently divorced, like me,
we’d struck up a friendship that was beginning to develop.
Beginning was as far as it got, however. A front page newspaper
photo of Ted and me holding hands at an art fair was enough to get
his ex-wife’s back up. Suddenly, she needed to confer with him
daily on their sons’ welfare. The boys were sassing her, hanging
out with the wrong crowd, might be doing drugs, and on and on ad
nauseum. Her manipulation was crystal clear to me, but not to Ted.
When he canceled the third date for a kid catastrophe, I called it
quits, telling him to call me when he got his life sorted out. I
was having enough trouble sorting out my own life; proof being the
huge stack of mismatched sheets piled in the utility room.
    I cleared my throat. “We’re not seeing each
other anymore.”
    “You’re not?” Penny Sue called, fanny up,
head buried in the refrigerator. She came out with three
cellophane-wrapped sandwiches. “How about a Cuban? I’m starving.
All we’ve had was toast, and we ended up throwing most of it on the
floor.” She snickered.
    Ruthie and I nodded. My stomach was feeling
hollow. Besides, eating might divert their attention from Ted. No
such luck.
    “What became of Ted?” Penny Sue pulled out a
skillet and started to grill the sandwiches.
    I sat at the counter as Ruthie arranged
placemats and napkins. “There’s not much to tell. In a nutshell,
his life is complicated—young kids and a possessive ex-wife.”
    “Hmph,” Penny Sue grunted as she forcefully
mashed the sandwiches with a spatula. “I’ll bet his wife wanted the
divorce until she found out someone else was interested in Ted.
Happens all the time. Once she’s sure y’all are finished, she’ll
dump him again. You watch.” She slid a sandwich onto a plate and
passed it to Ruthie, who added a handful of chips. “Let’s hope he’s
smart enough to go that route only once. I dated a jerk that did
the number three times. Mind you, one time was enough for me. I
hear his next girlfriend has already been around that track twice.”
She scooped out the last two sandwiches and took the stool beside
me. “Would you take Ted back?” she asked, biting into the sandwich.
“Mm-m, these things are good. They don’t do much for the
waistline,” she patted a newly acquired perimenopausal paunch,