Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona by Diana Dempsey Read Free Book Online

could talk to the neighbors about both Lindvig sisters,” Shanelle suggests. “Winona might be small enough that everybody knows everybody’s business.”
    “That’s a great idea,” I say. “We could also search the house for clues.” The cops did that while we were at the funeral home. I need to call Detective Dembek to ask if they found anything.
    “We should be searching the house right now, when Maggie isn’t here,” Trixie whispers. “Because I don’t think she’d take kindly to it.”
    “We best eat up then,” Shanelle says, and our spoons increase their speed between bowl and mouth.
    We’re slurping in silence when the doorbell rings. I can’t help it. My heart leaps because my first thought is: this could be Mario!
    I know. That’s not good for a woman who’s married to Jason. But if you knew Mario the way I know Mario, I bet you’d have the same reaction.
    It’s not Mario. In fact it’s not a man at all. It’s a slim, attractive blond I’d guess to be in her late sixties. Actually, she sort of resembles Ingrid. She’s wearing a snazzy nipped-waist parka in gunmetal gray with what I believe to be genuine shearling around the hood and cuffs. Beside her trousered legs stands a trendy brown-leather spinner and matching satchel.
    “I came the instant I heard!” she cries and pushes forcefully past me into the foyer, hauling her luggage inside with her. She pivots to face me again. “And you are?” she demands.
    Usually it’s the newcomer who has to identify herself but apparently this well-turned-out female isn’t shy. “I’m Happy Pennington and these are my friends Shanelle Walker and Trixie Barnett.”
    She eyes us for a moment then throws back her head and theatrically swings out her left arm. “ ‘To me, fair friend, you can never be old, for as you were when first your eye I eyed, such seems your beauty still!’ ”
    “Shakespeare?” I guess.
    “Of course ‘tis the bard! Sonnet 104. About the passage and ravages of time. Which you three have yet to suffer.” She gives me a penetrating onceover. “How did you come to know Ingrid? I never heard her mention you.”
    “I’m a family friend,” I lie. “Shanelle, Trixie, and I came to Winona to participate in the Giant W opening ceremony. I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name?”
    She looks shocked that I have to ask. “I’m Priscilla Pembroke! Surely you’ve heard of me.”
    I’m too polite to reply that I have not. “I gather you don’t live in Winona?”
    “I live in Manhattan.” She says it as if living anywhere else would be preposterous. “You would have had to know Ingrid only for a minute or two to hear her speak of me. We were as close as two friends can be. And now”—Priscilla staggers then lays her palm against her forehead—“she’s gone! ‘Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come!’ ” She lowers her head and gives me an expectant look. “Julius Caesar, of course. Act two, scene two, page two.”
    “So … you’re an actress?” Shanelle guesses.
    She hurls a glare like a hate bomb in Shanelle’s direction. “I am an ac-TOR! I will not be limited to female roles. I can play anything: man, woman, or beast.” She grabs the handle of her spinner. “I’ll show myself to my room.”
    I race to bar her from proceeding upstairs. “Priscilla, you’ll have to wait for Ingrid’s sister to get back before you do that.”
    Her nostrils flare. “You cannot seriously mean to keep me from a home I know as well as my own.”
    “It’s not up to me. Maggie is Ingrid’s closest relative and you’ll have to speak to her.”
    It’s only after Shanelle and Trixie flank me in a show of solidarity that Priscilla backs down. “I’ll prove to all of you how intimately I know Ingrid,” she huffs. “In fact, even though she swore me to secrecy, I will tell you where her shrine is.”
    “She has a shrine?” Trixie says.
    “To the goddess Freyja!” This time Priscilla throws out both