Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) Read Online Free PDF Page A

when we went over Grandma’s will, I was still really upset and I think I may have overlooked a few important details.”
    “Of course, my dear. Mrs. Lundberg and I miss your grandma terribly. She was a wonderful old gal,” he said fondly, seating himself behind a big mahogany desk.
    “I miss her too,” I replied quietly.
    We sat in comfortable silence for a bit. When his head nodded over to the right, I was concerned he might have died or fallen asleep, but thankfully I was mistaken. “Now about your questions,” he said, pulling out a file.
    “Yes, um, I was wondering about Edith and Mrs. C. I think they’re under the false impression that they come with the shop.” I laughed a little shrilly, praying to the Virgin Mary they were mistaken.
    “You know that your grandma found the good in everyone,” he said, flipping through the file.
    “Yes, she did.” I didn’t like the direction this was going. Damn it, I knew praying to the Virgin Mary had been a bad call. I was Lutheran . . . what in the hell had I been thinking?
    “Most people find the old sisters, um, rather difficult.”
    “I believe that might be an understatement, Mr. Lundberg,” I said as sweat began collecting on my upper lip. I wondered if it was too late to make a deal with God . . . the Lutheran one.
    “Yes, well, your grandma knew it would be difficult for the old gals to find jobs, since they’ve offended most of the town, so she guaranteed them employment after her death for five years.”
    “Shit, I mean shoot,” I said, slapping my hand over my mouth. “Is there any way around this?”
    “If you want to contest the will . . .”
    “No, I would never do that. I’m sure Grandma had good reasons for, um . . . making my life a living hell,” I told him, trying to figure out what Grandma had seen in the old lesbos.
    “Maybe she found something in them that we’re missing,” he said, gently.
    “Possibly.” I shook my head and wondered how much it would cost me to pay Mariah to kill them . . . or maybe just maim them.
    “I think your grandma would want you to show compassion.”
    I felt the heat creep up my neck and land squarely in my face. My guilt over the planning of their demise weighed a lot. I would try . . . and if all else failed, I was armed with some good lesbianic blackmail.
     
    As I left Mr. Lundberg’s office, I got a call from Mariah Carey that made my gut twist. The shelter had been broken into and the intruders were still there. She was there alone, painting over all the swear words she’d decorated the lobby with recently.
    “Mariah,” I yelled, “get out of there.”
    “I can take them,” she whispered into the phone.
    “You listen to me right now. Get your skinny ass out of there. If something happens to you, I will kill you,” I hissed.
    “You like me, you really like me,” she whispered, giggling.
    “I am serious. I want you out of there. Did you call the police?”
    “They’re on the way,” she murmured. “I’m not letting these dick-wits get away.”
    “Yes, you are,” I insisted, frantically. “They might be armed. You could end up dead. For real dead.”
    “Nah, it’s not my day to die.” She laughed like a psycho and hung up on me.
    Son. Of. A. Bitch.
    I got in my car and drove like a bat out of hell to the shelter.
     
    Thankfully the police had arrived before I did. I raced into the shelter and found Mariah Carey on the floor, giving a statement to Jack while nursing a black eye and a bloody lip.
    “Oh my God,” I gasped, dropping to the floor by Mariah, “are you okay?” My heart seemed to be beating throughout my entire body and I was shaking with relief. “Why didn’t you leave?” I demanded. “I told you to get out.”
    “This is my safe place.” Her voice broke and her eyes welled with tears. “They can’t come to my safe place.”
    “Oh, baby.” I cradled Mariah, tough little Mariah Carey, in my arms and rocked her. “It will be okay,” I promised. “This