Murder is the Pits Read Online Free PDF

“but
do wonders for my mood. If we’re going to wrestle a hurricane,
we’ll need our strength.”
    I looked sidelong at Ruthie, who’d stopped
chewing. Darn, I wish Penny Sue hadn’t said wrestle. “Don’t worry,
Ruthie, Guthrie will be here if we need anything. He’s a nice
man.”
    Ruthie stared back at me. She wasn’t buying
a word of it.
    It was after one when we finished lunch.
Penny Sue retired to her boudoir to select an outfit
for the hurricane. (Lord knows which personality said that line,
probably Scarlett O’Hara. If Penny Sue came out wrapped in
curtains, I’d know for sure.) Ruthie—on pins and needles as she
waited for the two o’clock storm update—took her cell phone to the
deck and started calling hotels. I made my bed, took a quick shower
to knock off the closet dust and called Bert Fish, the local
hospital, to check on Mrs. King. She was resting quietly. I tried
to wheedle information about her family—like, had they been
notified? Had anyone arrived to sit with her?—but the ward nurse
was too professional to spill any beans. Next, I called New Smyrna
Beach Florist. They were closing early for the hurricane, but I was
in luck. The van hadn’t left, and they had a nice, cheery
arrangement in stock. I put it on my charge card. I guess we had a
bad connection, because the storekeeper couldn’t seem to get our
address right, and made me repeat it twice.
    Exactly at one forty-five we all rushed,
like trained monkeys, to the living room and the next tropical
report. Ruthie watched the broadcast, hands touching her lips
prayerfully. I sat on the edge of the loveseat, and I noticed that
Penny Sue, normally nonchalant, gripped her diet soda tensely.
    A meteorologist I didn’t recognize came on
and announced that Charley’s eye wall showed the storm was gaining
strength. If that wasn’t enough, the storm was moving faster.
Several models predicted it would make landfall around Tampa. New
Smyrna was on the lower edge of the strike zone.
    Penny Sue took a big gulp of soda. “See,
Ruthie? Worse we’ll get are tropical force winds. We’re home
free.”
    Ruthie shot Penny Sue a cynical look. “If it
hits, we’ll be on the right—STRONG—side of the storm.”
    Penny Sue downed the rest of her cola. “For
a New Ager, you’re awfully fearful. Can’t you contact your spirit
guides to confirm the storm’s path?”
    Ruthie folded her arms defensively. “I’m not
bothering my guides with earthly matters.”
    “Enough said.” Penny Sue sashayed toward the
kitchen, exaggerating the fanny action. “If earthly matters are not
worthy of the spirits’ time, they’re not worth ours. We are spiritual beings, right? Ruthie, you need to put your actions where
your mouth is.”
    I glanced at Ruthie whose face was beet red.
Penny Sue had lobbed a real zinger!
    Thankfully, the doorbell rang at that
moment, proof that spirits were looking after Ruthie.
    Penny Sue virtually ran to get the door,
obviously realizing she’d stepped way over the line. My stomach
seized, fearful it was Guthrie with news of Mrs. King. I heard the
twang of the screen door, a slight yelp, and the front door clicked
shut.
    “What?” I called, dreading the answer.
    Penny Sue emerged from the hall holding a
single pink rose. “Look.” She held out the flower with a New Smyrna
Beach Florist card attached. The card was addressed to Penny Sue
and simply said, “You haven’t been out of my mind since I first saw
you.”

    * * *

Chapter 3

    August 13, New Smyrna Beach, FL

    “ I wonder who sent this?” Penny Sue
mused, placing the rose in a bud vase. She turned the card over—no
other inscription. “The florist must know.” She dialed the number
on the card and waited a long time. “Darn, they’ve closed early for
the hurricane.”
    Ruthie sniffed the rose. “I’ll bet it was
Rich.”
    “Rich?” Penny Sue shot back, irritability
masking her sorrow. “How could Rich know I was here? He’s in the
witness protection