Downhome Crazy by Cammie Eicher Read Free Book Online Page B

now-empty foam container along with his and heads for the trash container. I watch Miss Priss, amazed that she would not only lower herself to play, but that she prefers a ratty piece of paper to the fine kitty toys I invested in.
    “If you want to drive her crazy, put some catnip in an old sock, and tie it up,” Carson advised. “The longer she plays with it, the more stoned she gets. The more stoned she gets, the more peaceful your life.”
    “How do you know all these things?” I demand.
    “My grandmother had cats. Not like cat-lady crazy, but she had two or three all the time. When I was a kid, she had a big orange tomcat that scared me shitless. Gran used every trick in the book to keep peace between the two of us.”
    I stand up, walk to him, and plant a big old smooch on those gorgeous lips of his. That story proves once more how adorable he is, a big bad cop who used to be scared of a cat. Once again, I wish the time to fly until he’s officially off duty and officially mine. I even used a mountain scent fabric softener on the sheets when I washed them last night in anticipation of what was to come. I don’t suppose he’s picky, but I’m not sure my usual flower garden softener screams, “do me” on first whiff.
    “Got you something else, too.” Carson opens the fridge this time and pulls out a single long-stemmed red rose, which he hands to me with a flourish. I sniff the blossom. By golly, it still has its smell, which means he didn’t get it off the counter at the convenience store.
    “Have I told you lately how wonderful you are?” I whisper as my insides go all mushy.
    He smiles and kisses me, which is the perfect answer.
    I won’t go into detail about what happens next, but suffice it to say I will never view my kitchen in quite the same way again. I’m not sure whether it was the noise or the actions that ran her off, but during our interlude Miss Priss disappeared to parts unknown.
    Once Carson restores his appearance to that presentable for an officer of the law and I finally find my undies, we decide to make use of the afternoon by looking over the bank records. While math is not my long suit and I approach my own bank statements with dread and loathing, I don’t want to be left out of this particular investigation. Carson hands me the January to May records, and he takes the ones that brought us up to two days ago, the night before Miz Waddy disappeared.
    When my eyes start to cross, I decide it’s time for a coffee break. I stretch, fill my cup, and cross to the window that looks out on my street. The sight I behold makes me choke and call Carson over.
    Louise Opperman, she of Christmas program fame, holds a baseball bat in her right hand and a dustpan in her left. She is stalking something across her front yard and heading toward me. I’d tell you what she’s after, but the object of her hunt is invisible.
    “She do that often?” Carson inquires.
    I shake my head. Louise is A Lady, proper enough never to wear panty hose with open-toed shoes, and she wouldn’t be caught dead in white between Labor Day and Memorial Day. Watching her stoop down and swat with her bat and then scoop up nothing ensures something strange is going on here on my street. Actually, in my whole town.
    “Think I should go out there?”
    Yeah, he probably should. And he should also probably carry a syringe full of sleepy juice and a strait jacket. I toy with the idea of calling the ER and telling them to ready a third bed in the psych ward before deciding it’s best to give Dwaine that pleasure. First though, I need to go see if I’m missing something from my window viewing post.
    Carson follows me onto the porch; he doesn’t seem happy when I tell him to stay until I holler for him. He doesn’t understand that underneath her bossy, know-everything exterior, Louise is a delicate flower who needs careful handling.
    She shrieks at the top of her lungs as I step off the sidewalk. “For God’s sake, girl,