Picture Perfect Murder (Ryli Sinclair 1) (23 page)

“I know,” Aunt Shirley said, waving her margarita glass. “How
about ‘I don’t do windows or dinners or dishes.’” She slapped her knee in glee.
“Sounds pretty damn catchy to me.”

Paige threw down her pen. “
Ryli,
shut her up, please.”

I hid my smile behind my margarita glass and shot my
great-Aunt Shirley a mock glare. She retaliated by taking a long swallow of her
margarita. Since she was obviously bordering on drunk…my look meant nothing to
her.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Play nice,” I ordered.

“Why’re you squinting at me like that?” Aunt Shirley
demanded. “You
needin
’ glasses?”

I rolled my eyes. Subtlety never worked on Aunt Shirley.

My best friend, Paige, was marrying my brother, Matt, in
eight days. To make matters even more stressful, they weren’t doing it in our
hometown. Not that they could’ve gotten married by our childhood pastor in the
church we’d all grown up in anyway…we were still without a pastor.

We were without a pastor because our
last
pastor and his wife, Sharon Williams, turned out to be certifiably
insane. He was addicted to booze and pills, courtesy of his wife’s nightly
medicinal cocktail, and she spent her nights running around town killing
people. Me included.

Obviously
she
didn’t succeed in killing me, but she gave it her best try. Luckily for me, a
couple quick jabs to the neck with a dart took care of her.

So when Paige and Matt announced they’d like to be married
at the lake house, no one made too big a fuss. We’d all grown up visiting my
grandparents there, and now that mom owned the house, we continued going every
chance we got.

“Just say what you feel,” I said. “Don’t worry so much about
putting it down on paper. You two have been in love since elementary school.
Well, you have anyway, he just didn’t know he was.”

Paige laughed. “You’re right.” She took a dainty sip of her
margarita. “I guess I’m just worried I’ll freeze and forget what to say.”

“Did I ever tell you girls Clint Eastwood once asked me to
marry him?” Aunt Shirley announced.

“No, he didn’t, Aunt Shirley.” I’ve heard these ridiculous stories
a thousand times.

“Of course, I had to turn him down. His dog’s farts nearly
took the paint off the walls.” She took another drink. “I couldn’t see myself
tied down to that kind of mess.”

Paige giggled.

I rolled my eyes. You can only hear so much bull in one day
before you start to go insane. With Aunt Shirley, it usually took two minutes
in her presence before you realized she’s the biggest
bullshitter
there ever was. It’s what made her so good at her job, I’m sure. But it does
get tiring.

Aunt Shirley brushed her short, white hair off her face and belched.
“I
jussss
wanna
know one
thing,” Aunt Shirley slurred. “Do we have the party covered?”

“Oh yeah,” I grinned, enjoying the look of discomfort on
Paige’s face. “The bachelorette party is covered.”

“Tell me you aren’t doing anything cheesy and vulgar,” Paige
demanded.

Aunt Shirley hiccupped then laughed. “Those are the two
ingredients needed for a good party.” She downed the last of her drink and
tipped dangerously in her chair.

I shook my head. “I’ll never tell.”

Groaning, Paige plunked her head down on my dining room
table. Miss Molly, my black and white
long-haired
cat,
stopped cleaning herself to glare at Paige. I was pretty sure Miss Molly knew I
was leaving for a week. Every time I looked at her she either turned her back
to me or started cleaning herself. That’s cat language for “YOU ARE DEAD TO
ME!”

Aunt Shirley and I were supposed to be putting the finishing
touches on our list of things to take with us on Monday, while Paige was to be working
on her vows. None of us were getting very far.

Well, that’s not totally true…we were pretty far down in our
cups. I think this was our third pitcher of margaritas.

My aunt held up her empty glass. “I need another drink.”

I obliged, but was smart enough to only fill it halfway. I
figured she was too drunk to notice.

Seeing as how she was near Methuselah’s age—only a slight
exaggeration—the doctor said she was supposed to drink more red wine, that it would
be better for her health. Of course, my aunt’s response was something along the
lines of the doctor could kiss her lily-white ass before she’d drink wine over
tequila.

This explains why, on a frigid Saturday afternoon, two days
before Christmas, we were three sheets to the wind. I’m totally blaming my aunt
for this.

My great-aunt Shirley is a seventy-five-year-old retired
private investigator—a virtually unheard of profession for females during her
time. She worked mostly in Los Angeles from the early sixties until she retired
a few years back. Which is why we constantly have to listen to her
I-used-to-date-a-movie-star-way-back-when stories she enjoys fabricating.

I love her crass, no-nonsense sort of way. That
and
the fact she’s given me her most
prized possession—a 1965 turquoise Falcon that has a glass-like finish and dark
purple ghost flames that dance across the hood and side panels—doesn’t hurt,
either.

It wasn’t until recently that I felt I deserved to drive a
car like this. It’s one sweet, badass car. But since single-handedly taking
down the town killer, I felt pretty
badass
.

“Mom and I are running to Kansas City tomorrow to get a few
last-minute items we need before we head down to the lake. Did you want to go?”
Paige asked.

I shook my head. “I can’t. I have to finish an article for
Hank, and then we’re going to work on the layout for next week’s paper. He’s
still a little grumpy that Mindy and I are taking off the whole week.”

I work for the
Granville
Gazette
as an investigative journalist, photographer, copy editor, and whatever
else Hank needs. Hank is the owner of the
Gazette
.
I always describe him the same way to everyone. He’s a “Kill ‘
em
all, let God sort ‘
em
out” guy.
A retired Marine who still walks the walk and talks the talk.
Once a Marine, always a Marine.
Oorah
!

His wife, Mindy, is the complete opposite of him. Where he
is mean and vulgar, she’s sweet and kindhearted. She dresses like Naomi Harper
from
Mama’s Family
. She loves bright
colors, Capri pants, and off-the-shoulder shirts and sweaters. But that’s where
the comparisons stop. Mindy is actually the smartest, most levelheaded woman I
know outside of my own momma. Any woman that can put up with Hank has to be.

Lately Hank’s been giving me more responsibilities around
the office. I guess he figured since his star reporter single-handedly took
down the town killer, perhaps I could do more than write fluff pieces for his
paper. Of course, I’m sure it doesn’t hurt I’m currently dating the Chief of
Police in Granville, either. Hank is hoping I’ll scoop something for him. He
can keep hoping…it’ll never happen.

Garrett Kimble and I started seeing each other when we were
working the last case together. Okay, that may be a stretch. He was working it,
and I was getting in the way. But in the end it brought us together. We’ve been
“a little more than casual” for two months now.

“It’s going to be awful shopping on Christmas Eve,” I said.

“I know. I’m beginning to think a New Year’s Eve wedding
wasn’t such a good idea.”

“
Nonthens
!” I looked over at Aunt
Shirley. Her near-empty margarita glass was tilting dangerously to the side,
and she was rocking ever so slightly back and forth. It’s official…she was smashed.
“
Besss
idea. Gonna be specular…
spectlar
.”
Her brow furrowed. “Gonna be great!”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re cut off!”

Aunt Shirley smiled wickedly at me. “Sean Connery once said
those exact words to me after a night of passion. Guess I was too much a woman
for him!”

I shuttered.
Great,
now I’ll never be able to lust after Sean Connery again!

“So once you get these last-minute items, you’re all set?” I
asked, ignoring Aunt Shirley.

“I think so.” Tears welled in Paige’s eyes. “I just can’t
believe in a few days I’m going to be Mrs. Paige Sinclair.”

“Me, either,” I said, wiping tears from my own eyes. “I’ve
been dreaming of this moment just as long as you have.”

“Oh, Christ. I feel like I’m at a damn funeral,” Aunt
Shirley mumbled.

Paige laughed. “Who’s taking her home?”

Plop!
Plop!

I looked down at the notification on my phone. It was a text
from Garrett.
Heard
u r going over wedding plans & drinking margaritas. Be there shortly to
take Paige & Aunt Shirley home safely
.

“Looks like Garrett’s coming to our rescue. He’s the
designated driver today.”

“Oh jo
y,” Aunt Shirley grumbled.

I glared at her. “I’m tired of having to tell you to play
nice.”

Aunt Shirley grinned. “You
wanna
know who played nice? Clint Eastwood. He played real nice with my—”

“Enough!” I cried.

Aunt Shirley slapped the table and cackled like a drunken hyena.

Paige and I spent the next few minutes jotting down words to
incorporate into her vows. Aunt Shirley drank and vetoed all our suggestions.

The doorbell was music to my ears. I got up to answer it,
excited to see Garrett. Most nights he stops by for a while so we can spend
time together. I’m really weird about him leaving his police-issued suburban in
my driveway overnight. So on nights we want to be
together
, I usually go out to his place. He has a beautiful home in
the country…outside the city limits…away from prying eyes.

“You look relatively sober,” Garrett chuckled as he leaned
down to kiss me.

“Wait until you see Aunt Shirley,” I said. “I tried to give
her some coffee to help sober her up, but she wouldn’t drink it.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “No surprise there.”

“I don’t need
no
taxi.” Aunt
Shirley pushed herself up from the table, took two steps and stumbled. Grabbing
onto the back of my recliner she declared, “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are,” Garrett said.

Aunt Shirley narrowed her eyes at Garrett. “The day I can’t
hold my liquor is the day you need to take me out back and shoot me!”

Music
to my ears!

Garrett grabbed Aunt Shirley’s arm and gently eased her toward
the door. “From your mouth to God’s ears, Aunt Shirley,” he murmured.

Paige and I started giggling.

Damn
margaritas
.

“When I was younger, cops would come to
me
for suggestions on how to capture criminals,” Aunt Shirley told
Garrett as she bundled up in her winter coat.

“I’m sure they did,” he said patiently.

“I knew most of the cops on the LAPD. Good guys.” She fumbled
with her coat buttons. “I miss those times.”

I wrapped Aunt Shirley’s scarf around her wrinkled neck. “I
know you do.” And I’m sure she did. I’ve been worried about her constant
reminiscing of the past lately. She always sounds so sad.

Garrett leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll stop
by after I get off work,” Garrett said.

“Thanks. And I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Garrett gave me a wolfish grin. “You bet you will, Sin.”

I shivered. I loved when he called me that.

Jenna is a former court
reporter turned educator. She has a Master’s degree in Special Education, and
an Education Specialist degree in Curriculum and Instruction. She also spent
twelve years in the ministry. She currently lives in Missouri, but has lived in
six different states throughout her adult life. She spends her days teaching
reading and writing to students, and then spends her evenings working on her
own writing. She also writes a blog
http://jennabuhmanmoments.blogspot.com/
.
 

I’d also like to take this time
to thank my sister, Juliana Buhman. She has helped me make this dream come
true. She diligently worked on both my editing and my cover design. Without her
help,
Picture Perfect Murder
would
still be sitting in my computer unpublished. Thank you for all the support you
and Mom gave me during this journey.