Thoroughly 03 - Who Invited the Dead Man? Read Online Free PDF Page A

Folks has gone plumb crazy ’round here.” He waved both hands in the air.

    “What’s going on?” I asked.

    The officers replied in official jumble-ese, but Otis gave a clearer picture. “Miss Winifred got up from her nap, got in her power chair, and wheeled herself out in the yard with her shotgun before I knew she was awake. When I saw her through the kitchen window, I came right out after her, but she said she’s gonna kill those pesky crows that keep her from napping. I tried to talk her out of it—tol’ her and tol’ her you can’t shoot a gun in the city limits. But she was bound and determined.”

    Another shot was fired in the backyard and the bullhorn roared again. “Put down your weapon or you will be considered armed and dangerous.”

    Otis’s eyes widened in fear. “I called the po-lice thinkin’ they’d come talk sense to her. Instead, next thing I know we’ve got po-lice all over the place drawin’ their guns. We gotta get that gun away from her”—he gave the officers a rebuking glare—“but we don’t hafta shoot her to do it.”

    “Subject is armed and dangerous, Judge,” one of the officers informed me stiffly.

    I treated him as formally as he was treating me, although I’d lifted him up to water fountains when he was crawling around my shoelaces. “Let me see if I can talk to her, Officer.”

    I rounded the big camellia and saw Pooh sitting in her wheelchair in a lavender-and-blue cotton coffee coat with a wide white pique collar. She looked perfectly harmless except for the shotgun on her shoulder. As I watched, she aimed at the sky, pulled the trigger, and brought down a spiraling black form.

    “Good shot, Pooh! You haven’t lost your skill. But what’re you doin’?” I called from the gate. I started walking toward her like I was just curious.

    She lowered the gun and turned in her chair, swinging the barrels in my direction. I saw that her arms were shaking from the exertion of holding the gun. And while she could still remember how to shoot, she apparently couldn’t remember not to aim a loaded gun at friends. That was one of those times I wished I was someplace else, especially since the young officer behind me probably had a protective but trembling finger on his own trigger at my back.

    Pooh’s face was flushed with heat. “Why, hello, MacLaren!” We could have been at a garden club party except for the gun pointed at my chest. “I’ll be with you in just a minute. First I have to shoot the rest of these pesky crows. They’ve taken up residence in my magnolia and simply won’t let me get my nap.”

    She turned back to aim toward the towering magnolia that stood between her yard and her neighbor’s. Just beyond that particular tree was her neighbor’s kitchen window.

    I considered trying to dissuade her, but knew that wouldn’t work. “Can you get a clear shot from your chair? Looks like you’ve got a branch between you and the crow.” I walked closer to her and bent down to sight over her shoulder.

    “Get the gun!” one of the officers called.

    I ignored him.

    Pooh nodded seriously. “That’s what I’ve found.” She started to move awkwardly, waving the gun about. “If I get up, will you hold me so I can stand?”

    “Maybe I ought to shoot the crows.”

    I could tell the officers were having fits behind me. I flapped one hand behind my back to keep them from rushing us both.

    Pooh’s forehead puckered like she was thinking it over. “Are you a good shot, MacLaren? I don’t rightly remember.”

    “Used to shoot rats in Daddy’s henhouse, and never hit a chicken.”

    She thought about that while the courthouse clock chimed four. Then she gave me her sunny smile and held out the shotgun. “That ought to be all right, then.”

    I took it and sighted along the barrel, wondering how long it would be before those young policemen’s patience ran out. “You know, I can’t get a clear shot, either. I’m likely to shoot right