Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries) Read Online Free
Author: Paula Boyd
unload and store my stuff, making an appointment with the attorney and, yes, going to see my mother.
That last item was sure to end badly since I was not “breaking her out of jail” anytime soon, which was why I hadn’t intended to go see her the minute I set foot in Texas. However, if Agnes knew I was here, so did everyone else—and had ratted me out to Lucille. If I didn’t get to the rehab center pronto, I’d be hearing about it—loudly.
Clearly, my grand plan to have a few days to myself before anyone knew I was in town had failed about ten seconds after I pulled into the driveway. If I’d actually let myself think through the situation, I would have realized that would happen. But then again, if I’d let myself think about any part of this deal for very long, I’d probably still be huddled in a corner somewhere, sucking my thumb and mumbling, “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.” Instead, I gave denial and delusion free reign and I just kept telling myself everything was going to be fine…just fine.
Of course, we all know by this point that nothing is ever really “fine” in Kickapoo, Texas, and especially not for me. I’ve tried a lot of things to help me deal with insanity of it all and nothing does. The St. John’s wort pills that were supposed to help keep me calm in dealing with my mother’s murdered-boyfriend crisis and the subsequent mayhem that followed didn’t do squat. I popped those pills like lemon drops, but not once did anybody ever accuse me of being calm.
After my second bullet-ridden adventure down here, It occurred to me that prior to my mother becoming insane, the only time I’d needed pills of any kind had been in the years preceding my divorce from Danny. I’d been taking sam-E for my moods, antihistamines to sleep and high-octane antacid pills so I didn’t choke to death from bile lurching up into my throat when I was semi-comatose. Once Danny vanished, so did the need for all the drugs—instantly and overnight—not kidding. Unfortunately, none of the situations I had to face here were going to vanish that easily, and more likely, the problems would be multiplying like rabbits.
I shook off a shudder and started to add “stop at drugstore” to the list, but I just couldn’t do it. Not this time. This time, Jolene Jackson was not going to fall into that trap. This time, Jolene was going to be in control of her emotions and her person at all times and all by herself, thank you very much. And she wasn’t going to put up with any crap from anybody. Not from her mother and not her new attorneys. And furthermore, she was going to support her assertion that she didn’t need any medication by immediately ceasing to refer to herself in the third person. Geez.
Maybe I really was crazy. I went back to my list and wrote, “Call attorney” one more time. I hadn’t tried crazy on him yet—it might work. Although, I suppose he already thought I was insane, since a few seconds after he informed me I was the sole heir to the grand and well-funded estate, I’d tried to give it back. The team of lawyers there with him, supposedly representing the various business deals left in the lurch by Bob’s untimely death, had not found my responses amusing and had made it abundantly clear that I had no other choice—no good ones anyway.
If I refused to accept, the extensive estate—and all its extensive warts—everything went wholly and directly to my children. Since both were over eighteen, I couldn’t refuse on their behalf either. I know because I’d tried. So, rather than let their academic aspirations—and perhaps morals—be compromised by the mess, I took it on. Which meant, at some point, I was going to have to deal with all the fine properties I’d been bequeathed, including the one I least wanted to. I tentatively added “go see ranch house” to the list. I probably wouldn’t make it there today, but I assumed the attorney would give me the keys to the castle
That last item was sure to end badly since I was not “breaking her out of jail” anytime soon, which was why I hadn’t intended to go see her the minute I set foot in Texas. However, if Agnes knew I was here, so did everyone else—and had ratted me out to Lucille. If I didn’t get to the rehab center pronto, I’d be hearing about it—loudly.
Clearly, my grand plan to have a few days to myself before anyone knew I was in town had failed about ten seconds after I pulled into the driveway. If I’d actually let myself think through the situation, I would have realized that would happen. But then again, if I’d let myself think about any part of this deal for very long, I’d probably still be huddled in a corner somewhere, sucking my thumb and mumbling, “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.” Instead, I gave denial and delusion free reign and I just kept telling myself everything was going to be fine…just fine.
Of course, we all know by this point that nothing is ever really “fine” in Kickapoo, Texas, and especially not for me. I’ve tried a lot of things to help me deal with insanity of it all and nothing does. The St. John’s wort pills that were supposed to help keep me calm in dealing with my mother’s murdered-boyfriend crisis and the subsequent mayhem that followed didn’t do squat. I popped those pills like lemon drops, but not once did anybody ever accuse me of being calm.
After my second bullet-ridden adventure down here, It occurred to me that prior to my mother becoming insane, the only time I’d needed pills of any kind had been in the years preceding my divorce from Danny. I’d been taking sam-E for my moods, antihistamines to sleep and high-octane antacid pills so I didn’t choke to death from bile lurching up into my throat when I was semi-comatose. Once Danny vanished, so did the need for all the drugs—instantly and overnight—not kidding. Unfortunately, none of the situations I had to face here were going to vanish that easily, and more likely, the problems would be multiplying like rabbits.
I shook off a shudder and started to add “stop at drugstore” to the list, but I just couldn’t do it. Not this time. This time, Jolene Jackson was not going to fall into that trap. This time, Jolene was going to be in control of her emotions and her person at all times and all by herself, thank you very much. And she wasn’t going to put up with any crap from anybody. Not from her mother and not her new attorneys. And furthermore, she was going to support her assertion that she didn’t need any medication by immediately ceasing to refer to herself in the third person. Geez.
Maybe I really was crazy. I went back to my list and wrote, “Call attorney” one more time. I hadn’t tried crazy on him yet—it might work. Although, I suppose he already thought I was insane, since a few seconds after he informed me I was the sole heir to the grand and well-funded estate, I’d tried to give it back. The team of lawyers there with him, supposedly representing the various business deals left in the lurch by Bob’s untimely death, had not found my responses amusing and had made it abundantly clear that I had no other choice—no good ones anyway.
If I refused to accept, the extensive estate—and all its extensive warts—everything went wholly and directly to my children. Since both were over eighteen, I couldn’t refuse on their behalf either. I know because I’d tried. So, rather than let their academic aspirations—and perhaps morals—be compromised by the mess, I took it on. Which meant, at some point, I was going to have to deal with all the fine properties I’d been bequeathed, including the one I least wanted to. I tentatively added “go see ranch house” to the list. I probably wouldn’t make it there today, but I assumed the attorney would give me the keys to the castle