Fit To Be Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 1) by Nancy G. West Read Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy G. West
was still clutching Boffo’s bath crystals. I tossed them on the sofa and mulled over ways to harness the mutt’s aggression.
I hopped in my car and whipped down to Walgreen’s on Broadway to buy shoelaces and 409 to clean dog slobber off my shoes.
On the drive home, I mused about Mickey Shannon. What kind of man was he, this Tom Selleck clone who seemed more interested in Aggie jokes and in my less-than-perfect body than in a near-fatal electrocution?
If Grace’s instincts were right, and somebody had tried to kill Holly, I had to help this girl. I knew how she felt. She was like me. I couldn’t let her suffer more.
Six
When my feet hit Saltillo tile Tuesday morning, my body had petrified. Stiffness upon rising was a definite sign of aging. I clomped across the bedroom floor to reach my warm bathroom rug. At least the queasiness I’d felt sitting by the pool with Holly was gone. I chalked it up to trauma.
When I peered in the mirror, I was astonished how perky I looked. My eyes, clear and sharp, looked green from their proximity to Garfield’s emerald orbs on my sleep shirt. My hair was lopsided, so I re-parted it and blew upward to fluff the strands. I regretted missing Dr. Carmody’s Monday class. I might have missed important information.
I slipped into Mohair slides and ambled toward the kitchen. If I drank enough coffee, maybe I could go exercise before my body discovered what I was doing. I wanted to crack Mickey Shannon’s reticence. He knew more than he was saying.
On the other hand, I could enjoy the solitude of my suburban Alamo Heights bungalow soothed by strains of Debussy. The throbbing music at Fit and Firm combined with members’ obsessions with physicality wore a person out. How much trauma could I endure to get in shape? Did I really want to struggle through the rigors of exercise and flirting? It if kept me young and attractive, I could handle it.
I jumped when the mailman shoved mail through the brass slot. Did somebody need to share their pain with Dear Aggie? Sure enough, there was a letter.
Dear Aggie,
I started exercising at a club two days ago. Pain and inflammation rule my body. I’ve seen ads about Thermatone Pills that promote gentle healing with fifteen ingredients including antioxidants to flush toxins from my aching joints and muscles. What do you think?
Pained in Peoria.
Dear Pained,
Have you torn something or merely stretched a tendon beyond usefulness? If you’re not better in two days, call your doctor. Those Thermatone Pills could have been smuggled from Hongotovia. They probably cost more than your health club membership. I took something like that once. I was oblivious to pain but suffered mental confusion and peed a lot. Stick with aspirin.
Your partner in pain,
Aggie
I filled my coffee mug, smoothed a smidgen of peanut butter on dry toast and slipped back to the sofa. With great care, I set my mug on the mahogany table centered between my facing sofas so as not to spill coffee on my Tabriz rug. This masterpiece covered pockmarks in my wood plank floors, a unique condition that had helped me afford the house. I padded to the armoire I’d captured at Broadway Antique Auction, stuck a CD in the player perched on top and plopped on the sofa to absorb “Claire D’Lune.”
For the first time in my life, I was relieved of responsibility and financially secure enough to do what I wanted. When the conglomerate consumed the bank where I worked, and the stock I’d purchased annually from age eighteen multiplied a thousand fold, my security catapulted from zero to comfortable. I tongued peanut butter around my mouth. Naturally, I ditched my bank job, kept my columnist job, flew to San Antonio where the weather was warm, and embraced my new career as a graduate student.
I polished off the toast and smiled at the turquoise, orange and purple Serape-striped fabric on my sofas. My couches were oddly captivating, like people at
I hopped in my car and whipped down to Walgreen’s on Broadway to buy shoelaces and 409 to clean dog slobber off my shoes.
On the drive home, I mused about Mickey Shannon. What kind of man was he, this Tom Selleck clone who seemed more interested in Aggie jokes and in my less-than-perfect body than in a near-fatal electrocution?
If Grace’s instincts were right, and somebody had tried to kill Holly, I had to help this girl. I knew how she felt. She was like me. I couldn’t let her suffer more.
Six
When my feet hit Saltillo tile Tuesday morning, my body had petrified. Stiffness upon rising was a definite sign of aging. I clomped across the bedroom floor to reach my warm bathroom rug. At least the queasiness I’d felt sitting by the pool with Holly was gone. I chalked it up to trauma.
When I peered in the mirror, I was astonished how perky I looked. My eyes, clear and sharp, looked green from their proximity to Garfield’s emerald orbs on my sleep shirt. My hair was lopsided, so I re-parted it and blew upward to fluff the strands. I regretted missing Dr. Carmody’s Monday class. I might have missed important information.
I slipped into Mohair slides and ambled toward the kitchen. If I drank enough coffee, maybe I could go exercise before my body discovered what I was doing. I wanted to crack Mickey Shannon’s reticence. He knew more than he was saying.
On the other hand, I could enjoy the solitude of my suburban Alamo Heights bungalow soothed by strains of Debussy. The throbbing music at Fit and Firm combined with members’ obsessions with physicality wore a person out. How much trauma could I endure to get in shape? Did I really want to struggle through the rigors of exercise and flirting? It if kept me young and attractive, I could handle it.
I jumped when the mailman shoved mail through the brass slot. Did somebody need to share their pain with Dear Aggie? Sure enough, there was a letter.
Dear Aggie,
I started exercising at a club two days ago. Pain and inflammation rule my body. I’ve seen ads about Thermatone Pills that promote gentle healing with fifteen ingredients including antioxidants to flush toxins from my aching joints and muscles. What do you think?
Pained in Peoria.
Dear Pained,
Have you torn something or merely stretched a tendon beyond usefulness? If you’re not better in two days, call your doctor. Those Thermatone Pills could have been smuggled from Hongotovia. They probably cost more than your health club membership. I took something like that once. I was oblivious to pain but suffered mental confusion and peed a lot. Stick with aspirin.
Your partner in pain,
Aggie
I filled my coffee mug, smoothed a smidgen of peanut butter on dry toast and slipped back to the sofa. With great care, I set my mug on the mahogany table centered between my facing sofas so as not to spill coffee on my Tabriz rug. This masterpiece covered pockmarks in my wood plank floors, a unique condition that had helped me afford the house. I padded to the armoire I’d captured at Broadway Antique Auction, stuck a CD in the player perched on top and plopped on the sofa to absorb “Claire D’Lune.”
For the first time in my life, I was relieved of responsibility and financially secure enough to do what I wanted. When the conglomerate consumed the bank where I worked, and the stock I’d purchased annually from age eighteen multiplied a thousand fold, my security catapulted from zero to comfortable. I tongued peanut butter around my mouth. Naturally, I ditched my bank job, kept my columnist job, flew to San Antonio where the weather was warm, and embraced my new career as a graduate student.
I polished off the toast and smiled at the turquoise, orange and purple Serape-striped fabric on my sofas. My couches were oddly captivating, like people at
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