Then There Were Nun
Page 27
“What the heck is happening now?” Valerie asked.
“Darned if I know, but we’d better get out there,” Lorraine replied.
Muffled voices coming from the direction of the bathroom door grew louder as the door opened then shut, muting them again.
Cautiously, I peered over the top of the stall to be sure both Valerie and Lorraine were gone. Coast clear, I slipped from the stall and stuffed the receipt back into my hoodie pocket, fully intending to hand it over to one of the investigating officers.
I shouldered the bathroom door and fell into a crowd gathered around the front desk as even more people piled into the station.
Coco was in the middle of it all, being pushed around, her purse swinging from the bend in her elbow as she tried to keep from teetering on her heels.
What in gravy’s name was going on?
“I’m tellin’ ya, sure as the day is long, the time has come!”
I tried to push my way through the throng of people who’d gathered at the station, but I didn’t need to look far to know who’d stirred up trouble.
Cappie.
He stood on top of Thurman’s desk, his hair—which I’m convinced hadn’t been cut since the seventies—in a thin, greasy topknot on his head, bouncing wildly as he hopped from bare foot to bare foot.
Cappie didn’t believe in shoes per se—he wore wooden clogs and for some strange reason, likely one of his many government-proof rituals, always kicked them off outside before entering a building.
He claimed the rubber on the soles was made from toxic something or other, and it would eat through his feet—or something like that. I’d zoned out on that particular rant against, as Cappie called them, the damn mutant robots running congress.
“May Layne ain’t responsible for old Myron’s murder! Listen up, Figgers, the po-po’s tryin’ to frame our girl and hide the truth from us!”
Oh, shoot. I didn’t know where Cappie was going with this, but I was in no mood to humor one of his conspiracy theories today. This was my mother he was dragging into another one of his nutty ideas.
Furthermore, how did he know thing one about Myron’s murder and my mom’s involvement? I loved Fig with the very depths of my soul—I didn’t love how quickly word spread, no matter how big or small the news. In a town this size, you couldn’t get a bunion without everyone knowing about it.
“Cappie!” Justice yelled. “Get down from there, or I’m gonna throw you in a cell!”
I wasn’t the only one who humored my pal Cappie—the entire town did. And what Justice means is, he’ll call Cappie’s daughter Noreen, and she’ll make him spend his nights at her cute bungalow where she can keep a close eye on him. The bungalow he declares is filled with listening devices ala the government. He’d moved out of her house and into a camper on a patch of her land because of it.
Cappie also hates Noreen’s house due to her very vocal pet cockatoos, which he’s convinced are also government informants. I don’t know how Noreen keeps her patience with Cappie, but so far, she hasn’t committed him or killed him, and in my mind, she deserves a medal for all the time she spends bailing him out of trouble.
“The devil I will, Copper!” he sang as he danced around the long granite countertop, his long, painfully thin legs, encased in thermal underwear, poking out of his frayed denim shorts with a sort of layered effect.
Justice pushed his way through the crowd and looked up. “Cappie, I’m gonna give you one last warning.”
“I’m not comin’ down until you let May go and tell the truth! We deserve to know the truth!”
What truth?
Thurman snuck up from behind Cappie and made an unsuccessful swipe for him, knocking into his chair, sending the contents of his desk and his person to the floor.
As pens and pencils scattered on the ground, someone from the crowd shouted, “What the heck are you goin’ on about, Cappie? You got us all worked up over poor May. Speak your piece!”
Cappie cackled and stuck his tongue out at Justice. “Listen up, Figgers! May Layne didn’t kill nobody. She’s an innocent woman bein’ framed by the corrupt system!”
Several people gasped, and then Davis Turner, a tried and true Walleye Fisherman’s Club Member, shouted, “So who killed him, Cap?”
“Zombies!” Cappie bellowed, waving a knobby, weathered finger. “We got us a case of the living dead right here, folks! He’s stealin’ brains and eatin’ ’em for dinner!” And then he began to chant and clap. “Free May Layne! Free May Layne!”
Everyone around me erupted, joining Cappie, stomping their feet, and demanding my mother’s release.
I covered my face with my hands and groaned.
Where was Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead when you needed him?
Note from Dakota
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About Dakota
Dakota Cassidy is a USA Today bestselling author with over thirty books. She writes laugh-out-loud cozy mysteries, romantic comedy, grab-some-ice erotic romance, hot and sexy alpha males, paranormal shifters, contemporary kick-ass women, and more.
Dakota was invited by Bravo TV to be the Bravoholic for a week, wherein she snarked the hell out of all the Bravo shows. She received a starred review from Publishers Weekly for Talk Dirty to Me, won a Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Kiss and Hell, along with many review site recommended reads and reviewer top pick awards.
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eBooks by Dakota Cassidy
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