Femmes Fatal by Dorothy Cannell Read Free Book Online

in hand, I would offer him a piece of cherry cake, even if so doing did constitute sexual harassment. Because thanks to the plumber with the Charlie Chaplin moustache and dodgy eye, I k new how to lure Roxie Malloy back to life and love.
    Look out, Mr. Walter Fisher, Funeral Director and Embalmer. Your horoscope says you are destined to forget the wife who deserted you. Surely by now you have earned the right to declare her legally dead and fall victim to the charms of a Fully Female woman!

Humbling as it is to admit, I am not the perfect homemaker. When life-or-death situations intrude, I tend to let the housework slide. Ignore the washing machine still occupying the centre stage in the kitchen. Forget the unmade beds and grandiose plans for repapering the pantry shelves. I would resort to my secret hoard of disposable nappies in the airing cupboard, and Mrs. Malloy and I would be off down the Yellow Brick Road to keep my one o’clock appointment with Fully Female. Hadn’t that nice woman on the phone said two for the price of one?
    Only one problem. Her Mightiness kept putting obstacles in the way as fast as I could stick spoonfuls of mashed carrot into the twins, who sat in their feeder chairs on the kitchen table, ready to eat the spoon. My heart went out to mother birds everywhere. How do they cope?
    “Load of twaddle, Mrs. H.”
    “Mr. Bludgett doesn’t think so. He came to fix the washing machine this morning, got a call from his wife—who’s a member of Fully Female—and rushed home for … elevenses, as if someone had lit a firecracker under him.”
    Mrs. Malloy sniffed. “Jock Bludgett always was a horny devil. Everyone knows he did the hokey-pokey with Gladys Thorn.”
    Would I never cease to be devoutly shocked by the doings of our revered church organist? The lady had been through more men than there are hymns in the hymnal. But from the bombshell hints she had dropped in the past, Mrs. Malloy was in no position to throw stones. Seems true love makes prudes of us all. As does motherhood. I became aware that the twins were all eyes and ears as they sat chewing on their plastic straps. Possibly they were on the watch for the signs that more din-din was forthcoming, but ever ready to read disapproval in those periwinkle eyes, I steered the conversation away from illicit sex to the wholesome, holistic variety prescribed by Fully Female.
    “Mrs. Malloy,” I proclaimed, “you are a coward.”
    “I am not.” Standing up tall on her stilt heels, she folded her arms, forcing her taffeta bosom up to her chin. “When it comes to pleasuring a man, there’s not much I don’t know.”
    “Doesn’t do to rest on our laurels!” If I snapped, it was because I’d tested a spoonful of applesauce for hotness by touching it to my lips. When I licked them, they sizzled and tasted of pork crackling.
    “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
    “Rubbish.” I’d got my mouth unstuck without tearing it. Swatting Tobias Cat off the table, I wiped my hands on my apron and began dolloping creamed rice and applesauce into the Peter Rabbit dish. “Mrs. Malloy, I’ll bet you five pounds that by the end of week oneyou’ll have Mr. Walter Fisher jumping through hoops and woofing at the moon.”
    “Five quid?” She bridled. “How bloody far do you think that’ll go toward paying for this f’ing course?”
    “For heaven’s sake,” I said, popping a spoonful of cooled applesauce into Abbey’s rosebud mouth, “they’re having a two-for-one special.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mrs. Malloy plump down on her laurels in the rocking chair.
    “Won’t cost me a penny?” Her face seemed to waver, as if all sorts of emotions were working their way up to the surface; but that could have been because I was in a tug-of-war with Tam over the spoon. “Thanks ever so, Mrs. H, but I don’t see as how I can accept.” She was back on her high horse. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not me pride. As Mrs. Pickle at