Totally Buzzed (A Miller Sisters Mystery) Read Online Free
Author: Gale Borger
much for saving…"
"I didn't mean to grab…"
An awkward silence prevailed. Mee-Me stubbed his toe in the ground. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, gee, Fred I h-hope you're uh, are you okay?"
Fred took a deep breath and looked down at the box. She gulped in some air and looked at Mee-Me. "Yes, Malcolm, thank you. I'm okaaa-akkk!" and threw up on his shoes.
Malcolm looked at his shoes, then up at a horrified Fred. "Good, Fred, I'm glad you're feeling better. Would you excuse me for a moment, please?" He walked stiff-legged over to Mom's garden hose and calmly rinsed the puke off his shoes.
Mag elbowed me. "Poor Malcolm. It's never easy being the Coroner."
"Frankly, I was wondering where Fred came up with the stomach contents. She already unloaded once."
Fred watched Mee-me. I thought about Malcolm for a minute. Mee-Me got his name the day we read a report about a body Mag had found down by the lake. He initialed, rather than signed, the report. Because his name is Malcolm Edward Evans, Medical Examiner, the initials were MEE, ME. Of course being the tasteful friends and consummate professionals we are, we never let him live it down, much to his despair.
Mee-Me has always been sweet on Fred, but being painfully shy, he has never pursued it. Fred knows about it too. However, she tries not to encourage him. She would never intentionally hurt his feelings, but I really don't think she could take the heat if she was going out with the County Coroner.
With the trauma the box suffered under the onslaught of my sisters' respective flying bodies, it was laid open and the entire length of the body inside was now exposed. I vaguely registered the fact Mag had ceased laughing, and now she, too, was throwing up behind me.
I stared numbly at the body, realizing that not only was the body female, but it was our neighbor and friend, Carole Graff.
As I said, dead bodies piss me off, but dead bodies of good people I know send me into a rage. At this point I'd had about enough of the theatrics of my lunatic sisters, and the bumbling of the Three Stooges, so I took off in search of the only sane person on the premises–Sheriff James J. Green.
I saw him coming out of the back door of my mom's house, sporting brownie crumbs on his graying mustache. Dragging him over to the box, I said, "Yo, J.J., get rid of the brownie crumbs and look at this–we got trouble."
"Hey, Buzz, what's up? I gathered we had some trouble when I got the frantic 911 from your sister, and I understand that your Mom made brownies."
I grabbed his shirt. "No, you don't understand, J.J. It's Carol Graff from down the road. She's dead in the box."
Hands on his hips, he stared at me. "As in Graff's Garden Center Carol Graff?" He pushed his ball cap back and scratched at his forehead. "If that doesn't beat all." He rubbed the back of his neck looked down on the body. "Damn. Nice lady, too. Sometimes I hate my job. I'm going to have to be the one to go break the news to Glen and Rob."
I felt that old sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I agree, my friend. I hated that part of your job too. That's one of the reasons why I don't do it anymore. If there's anything I can do to help…"
"As a matter of fact, Buzz, you know, you can help me out here. I know you still look into things now and again. Moe is my only detective now since Brian got hit with the shrapnel when Paul Stewart's still blew up last week."
"Moe? Oh, you mean Phil."
"Is that his name? I can only keep them straight as the Three Stooges."
"But Phil isn't a detective, even on a good day. Where's Brian Adamson? Can't he do the initial?"
"He's off on Workman's Comp and I'm left with the Three Stooges and Shemp over there for line staff. I'd almost be better off using that sawed-off excuse of a constable to investigate. Hell, I hope I'm never that desperate. Come on, Buzz, help me out here. Hey, I'll even put you on the payroll–at Captain's pay."
"Captain's pay! Forget it, J.J. I have my
"I didn't mean to grab…"
An awkward silence prevailed. Mee-Me stubbed his toe in the ground. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, gee, Fred I h-hope you're uh, are you okay?"
Fred took a deep breath and looked down at the box. She gulped in some air and looked at Mee-Me. "Yes, Malcolm, thank you. I'm okaaa-akkk!" and threw up on his shoes.
Malcolm looked at his shoes, then up at a horrified Fred. "Good, Fred, I'm glad you're feeling better. Would you excuse me for a moment, please?" He walked stiff-legged over to Mom's garden hose and calmly rinsed the puke off his shoes.
Mag elbowed me. "Poor Malcolm. It's never easy being the Coroner."
"Frankly, I was wondering where Fred came up with the stomach contents. She already unloaded once."
Fred watched Mee-me. I thought about Malcolm for a minute. Mee-Me got his name the day we read a report about a body Mag had found down by the lake. He initialed, rather than signed, the report. Because his name is Malcolm Edward Evans, Medical Examiner, the initials were MEE, ME. Of course being the tasteful friends and consummate professionals we are, we never let him live it down, much to his despair.
Mee-Me has always been sweet on Fred, but being painfully shy, he has never pursued it. Fred knows about it too. However, she tries not to encourage him. She would never intentionally hurt his feelings, but I really don't think she could take the heat if she was going out with the County Coroner.
With the trauma the box suffered under the onslaught of my sisters' respective flying bodies, it was laid open and the entire length of the body inside was now exposed. I vaguely registered the fact Mag had ceased laughing, and now she, too, was throwing up behind me.
I stared numbly at the body, realizing that not only was the body female, but it was our neighbor and friend, Carole Graff.
As I said, dead bodies piss me off, but dead bodies of good people I know send me into a rage. At this point I'd had about enough of the theatrics of my lunatic sisters, and the bumbling of the Three Stooges, so I took off in search of the only sane person on the premises–Sheriff James J. Green.
I saw him coming out of the back door of my mom's house, sporting brownie crumbs on his graying mustache. Dragging him over to the box, I said, "Yo, J.J., get rid of the brownie crumbs and look at this–we got trouble."
"Hey, Buzz, what's up? I gathered we had some trouble when I got the frantic 911 from your sister, and I understand that your Mom made brownies."
I grabbed his shirt. "No, you don't understand, J.J. It's Carol Graff from down the road. She's dead in the box."
Hands on his hips, he stared at me. "As in Graff's Garden Center Carol Graff?" He pushed his ball cap back and scratched at his forehead. "If that doesn't beat all." He rubbed the back of his neck looked down on the body. "Damn. Nice lady, too. Sometimes I hate my job. I'm going to have to be the one to go break the news to Glen and Rob."
I felt that old sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I agree, my friend. I hated that part of your job too. That's one of the reasons why I don't do it anymore. If there's anything I can do to help…"
"As a matter of fact, Buzz, you know, you can help me out here. I know you still look into things now and again. Moe is my only detective now since Brian got hit with the shrapnel when Paul Stewart's still blew up last week."
"Moe? Oh, you mean Phil."
"Is that his name? I can only keep them straight as the Three Stooges."
"But Phil isn't a detective, even on a good day. Where's Brian Adamson? Can't he do the initial?"
"He's off on Workman's Comp and I'm left with the Three Stooges and Shemp over there for line staff. I'd almost be better off using that sawed-off excuse of a constable to investigate. Hell, I hope I'm never that desperate. Come on, Buzz, help me out here. Hey, I'll even put you on the payroll–at Captain's pay."
"Captain's pay! Forget it, J.J. I have my
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