Pink Flamingoed Read Online Free Page B

something that answered Brad’s question.
    “Cora, don’t you love me anymore?”
    “You know I do, Harry, but you’re still a tightwad.”
    “How about me, Cora?”
    “How about you what, Melanie?”
    “Do you love me, too?”
    “Melanie, I love you so much I wish you were my own
daughter, so I could ring your neck every time I catch you chasing another
man.”
    “But you’ve got a man, Cora.”
    “Not only do I have a man, Melanie. I have a prince of
a man.”
    “But I want a prince, too, Cora.”
    “Melanie, if you’d quit chasing every man you see, I
might help you find your prince.”
    It was then that Brad realized that all of these
people really cared about each other.
    Come to think of it , Brad thought, they’re acting like a lot of families I know .
    “Just two more houses,” Amy said to Brad, “and then
it’s over to my place for the after-caroling party, so here goes. On our left
we have the home of Lady Catherine McPherson. Lady Catherine claims to be a
dramatic actress of the past, although no one on Aylesford Place has ever seen
her act, including those who have lived here far longer than I have. Actually,
all of us have seen Lady Catherine act, as she always dramatizes her every
word.”
    “Sounds like Lady Catherine’s a character.”
    “She is, although she might not be the biggest
character in her household.”
    “So, there’s a Mr. McPherson?”
    “There may or may not be a Mr. McPherson,” Amy
replied.
    “You mean she might have someone tied up in the
basement?”
    “You might be more correct than you think,” Amy answered.
“Supposedly, Lady Catherine’s grandson Norman lives in the basement. I have
never seen him, because he never comes out in the daytime.”
    “So, we either have a vampire or a dastardly criminal
type? Should we break in some day carrying a crucifix?”
    “I don’t know. I’m more in favor of the criminal
theory myself. And so, Mr. Holmes, would you care to guess what our Norman does for a living?” Amy asked.
    “Well, Dr. Watson, from your  emphasis on the word     Norman , it seems elementary that our young recluse works at Bates Motel.
Am I correct?”
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, but being new to our hamlet
you’re probably unaware that Hopemont has no Bates Motel. While I have no idea
whether or not our Norman would hurt a fly, he is the night clerk at the
Resting Place Motel.”
    “How interesting, Dr. Watson. And I assume it has been
Norman’s job to make it a final resting place for some.”
    “Oh, no, Mr. Holmes. I have no idea whether or not our
Norman has discontinued the lifetime of any of the motel’s guests, but if so,
I imagine he was smart enough to dispose of the bodies.”
    “You’re quite right, Dr. Watson. I say, does this burg
have a swamp, or would our Norman’s basement flat have a dirt floor, by any
chance?”
    “I am enjoying your conversation immensely, Mr. Holmes
and Dr. Watson, but if you’ll save the rest of it for another time, I’ll ring
the bell so that we can sing to Lady Catherine and our alleged murderer,” Cora
suggested.
    Cora pressed the doorbell.
    “Now, remember, everyone. This is Lady Catherine. We
won’t start singing until after she’s greeted us.”
    Brad wondered what Cora meant, but figured he would
soon find out.
    In a matter of seconds the door opened and out stepped
a woman wearing a more than ample supply of make-up and the brightest red
lipstick Brad had ever seen. She also wore a red silk blouse adorned with a
large brooch, and long skirt that looked like Scarlet O’Hara had made it out of
an extra set of drapes. Brad wondered if this outfit was in style at some time.
His character sketch was interrupted by the woman’s address.
    “Is this my neighbors I see before me? The night has
fallen and the nightingales are about to sing. Oh, beautiful nightingales. Sing
forth from your lips of honey.”
    And this is the more normal one? Brad wondered.
    The group sang their customary