Cold Bullets and Hot Babes: Dark Crime Stories by Arlette Lees Read Free Book Online Page A

times then collapsed over the toilet and upchucked.
    “Whew, just in time,” I said, giving him a goofy smile. The room began to spin and I sat down on the tile with a soft thud.
    “I don’t want you talking to Cal unless there’s someone else around,” said Robby. “It’s not like we know anything about him.”
    “You’re not my Dad. You can’t tell me what to do.” The green feeling swept over me again. I leaned over the toilet and threw up the rest of the beer.
    * * * *
     
    We’d cleaned up all traces of our noontime bacchanal by the time Dad and Bell came back from Gunnar.
    I threw my arms around Dad’s waist. “Are you going to be okay? What did the doctor say?”
    “He’s working on it,” said Dad, as Robby and I helped him to the bedroom. “It might be hepatitis or mono. They’re running tests.”
    “You kids come and sit down at the table,” called Bell. Cal sauntered in through the screen door and pulled up a chair. Bell opened the fridge. “Who’s been into the roast beef? And the milk is almost gone!”
    “It was me,” I said, feeling mildly hung over and unusually fearless. I’m having a growth spurt.”
    “You must have a tapeworm!” she said.
    I glanced at Cal who had a big grin on his face. I started to giggle and pretty soon Robby joined in. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” said Bell, which made us laugh all the harder.
    During dinner I caught Bell staring at me with eyes as hard and cold as ice cubes. I’d upped the ante of hostility, but, my beer bravado was quickly turned to dread.
    * * * *
     
    For the next couple of days I hung out by Dad’s bedside or stayed close to Robby as he did his chores. One quiet afternoon when I thought Bell was in the henhouse she caught me foraging in the forbidden pantry. She grabbed me with her talons and began shaking me like a rag doll.
    “I just want some lentil soup,” I warbled, trying to keep my head from tumbling off my shoulders and rolling across the floor like a bowling ball.
    “You know I make that soup for your father’s recovery,” she grated.
    She was wearing another wilty cotton dress with a faded flour sack apron, her hair pulled back in an old maid’s bun, a pair of shlumpy brogues on her feet. Mom had been so gay and colorful and fun and Bell seemed to bend over backwards to look like a frump.
    “I don’t know how Dad could have married such a dreary person. Mom was pretty and kind and you’re as ugly as a warthog.” Her fists started to fly but I’d already covered my head so my arms took the brunt of the blows. “You make me gag!” I shrieked.
    “What’s going on in there?” called Dad from the bedroom. Bell clamped a hand over my mouth.
    “Abby saw a rat in the pantry, but, it’s all taken care of.”
    “I hope so,” said Dad.
    “You make so much as a sounds and it’s the last you’ll ever make.” said Bell, removing her hand from my mouth.
    As I fled the pantry I tripped over a jug that stuck out from beneath the shelves, something that seemed strangely out of place.
    Within minutes I heard Bell calling Sheba. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty!” I smiled as I walked out into the sunshine to lick my wounds.
    * * * *
     
    Late that night Robby and I smuggled the jug of green stuff into the corn crib where we could examine the label by flashlight.
    “Jesus, Abby, your arms are nothing but bruises.”
    “It’s nothing,” I said. “What does the label say?”
    “Antifreeze.”
    My shoulders slumped. “Just that stuff that Dad puts in the truck.”
    “It has another name. Ethylene glycol. It’s a deadly poison and I think Bell is putting it in Dad’s soup. Do you ever remember him being sick before Bell came along?” I shook my head.
    “What are we going to do?”
    “I’m not sure yet. I need time to think.”
    We walked across the damp grass in our pajamas and slippers and hid the jug in the long-abandoned outhouse. “This should slow her down and give us time to come up with a