Page 42 of A Rose of Steel
“Oh you want to snub me, too?”
“Oh, geesh.” I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to snub you. And I don’t think Mrs. Hackett did either.”
“How about if we just go?” she said.
I didn’t have much choice but to agree with that. She wasn’t going to let me go by myself, and she wasn’t going to get over not being given the care of Bumper.
“I’m driving,” she said and snatched the keys off the wall caddy.
That made me so nervous that I started to run upstairs and grab my St. Christopher medallion.
“So what’s our plan?” Auntie glanced over at me from behind the steering wheel. I’d made sure my seatbelt was tight and I braced my hand against the dashboard. We’d driven half way there in silence. I had kept a watchful eye wondering if I was going to see steam rising from her t00-high hairdo. Her words now, though, were even and much calmer than they had been before we left the house.
I shrugged. “We ask him questions. Primarily, I guess, if he knew who wrote the script for Bumper’s inhalers.” I shook my head. “I hope that he won’t give us a problem about sharing the information without Pogue around.”
“We don’t need Pogue, Sugarplum.” She smiled for the first time. “I’m the justice of the peace, I can initiate an investigation.”
“Auntie, I’m aware of what you can do, but you having that power is scary.”
She produced a wide grin that showed all of her teeth.
“Hi Babet,” Mr. McDougal said as we walked in the door, the bell overhead jingling our arrival. He’d been the town’s pharmacist probably for the last thirty or more years.
“Morning,” she said. “How are you this fine morning?”
“I can’t complain,” he said. “And don’t tell me this is Romaine? I haven’t seen her in years.”
I usually came into town, visited my family and got out before anyone in town could see me. And I had planned to keep a low profile while I waited my time out this time. But with the murders that kept popping up, I might not be as low key as I’d planned.
“Oh. My. Lord. Will you look at this!” Auntie said. She grabbed a newspaper from the stand in front of the pharmacy counter, completely ignoring Mr. McDougal’s comment. She threw the paper on the counter and planted her hands on her hips.
“What is it?” I said picking up the paper.
“Can’t you read?” Auntie voice had gone up several octaves and decibels. “I swear! Are they trying to put me out of business?”
The headline read: “Another Murder at a Roble Funeral Home.”
“Oh wow,” I said.
“Wow doesn’t cover it,” she said. “Who in the world is writing this stuff?”
“Shame what happened over at your place,” Mr. McDougal said, his expression not changing. “When I first heard about it, they were sure he’d pull through because it had been only been an asthma attack. Too bad, he was one of those really nice boys, was going to make something of himself.”
“Well, it wasn’t asthma that done him in,” Auntie huffed.
“Hi, Mr. McDougal,” I said interrupting her before she shared information best kept secret for the time being. “Good to see you.”
I knew to be polite to him, not just because I was brimming with questions, but because it was how I was raised. Auntie Zanne was giving me enough grief, without me “causing her embarrassment by not minding my manners.” Although, her attitude so far that morning hadn’t been exemplary.
“How is everything with you?” he asked. “And with Chicago?”
“She’s back to stay,” Auntie stopped huffing long enough to disseminate some misinformation. “She’s taking Doc Westin’s place as the ME.”
I frowned and opened my mouth to correct what she’d said. Why she continued to tell people things about me that weren’t true, I just couldn’t understand. But I didn’t want to make a scene and call her out in front of a man we needed. I wanted him to see that we were on the same accord.
“We wanted to ask you some questions,” I said and nudged Auntie Zanne to the back of me. “About Michael Hackett’s asthma.”
“She means Bumper. No need to be formal, right, McDougal?” Auntie Zanne said, stepping back up next to me. “We want to know what went wrong with his inhaler.”
