Brown-Eyed Girl Read Online Free Page A

thought, I am always right. I’d have been here sooner, but I had a Historical Society board meeting I couldn’t walk out on.”
    Delice had always had a thing for Laramie’s Endangered Architectural Heritage, beginning with the Wrangler itself, which she had managed to get on the National Register of Historic Buildings, roaches in the food preparation area and slime in the ice machine evidently being no barrier to historic preservation and its attendant tax breaks.
    â€œCan I buy you a beer, Dee?” Sally asked, slapping her on the back and shoving her into a chair.
    â€œNah,” said Delice. “I know the owner.” Without asking, the waitress brought her a shot of Cuervo Gold and a Budweiser. “Saving our precious past always gives me a thirst.”
    â€œSo what are you saving these days, Delice? Ought to be about time you put the cement plant on the register— it’s been puking out pollution more than twenty-five years now, hasn’t it?” Sally thought historic preservation was an oxymoron and a real estate scam.
    â€œStill a riot, Sally,” Delice answered, mouth puckering as she licked her hand, shook salt on it, licked it again, took a hit off the Cuervo, took a bite out of a lime wedge, took a pull off the Bud. “But it takes fifty years. In a couple of years we could get Dickie nominated.” Dickie appeared not particularly glad to hear this. “Actually, I bet you’ll be delighted to know that we’re hoping to put together a Register application for Margaret Dunwoodie’s house!” Delice said the last as if she truly believed Sally would be thrilled and raring to help out, although why Sally should care one bit was anybody’s guess. “What with all the attempted break-ins while it was empty, a bunch of us were getting ready to take turns sitting on the porch with a shotgun to discourage prowlers.”
    Historic preservers with shotguns? And what was all this about break-ins? Evidently this research project had some unanticipated complications, Sally decided. But after all, she’d spent ten years in LA, where every decent stereo she’d ever bought had been stolen within a month of the date of purchase. “Don’t shoot anybody on my account,” she said, setting doubt aside and putting an arm around Delice for a half-hug. “At least not until I’ve had the chance to give you a list of who I want dead.”
    â€œI could probably come up with a short list on my own,” Delice remarked, and cackled until the clanging of her jewelry deafened three nearby tables full of customers. Dickie pulled at his earlobe as if he was trying to work something loose, and suddenly Delice remembered that her brother was there. Abruptly, she settled her arms on the table and her bracelets jangled to a halt. She looked a pointed, silent question at Dickie, who carefully acted as if he were still ignoring her. Sally was suspicious.
    â€œYou didn’t tell her, did you?” Delice narrowed her eyes at the fidgeting Dickie.
    â€œTell her what?” Dickie asked, feigning an innocence so guilty it might have been endearing, had the hairs on Sally’s neck not stood up in apprehension.
    â€œYou big lard-ass goat-sucking shithead,” Delice yelled at Dickie, who was by now very busy shaking his Bic and trying to light a Marlboro. “You haven’t told her.”
    â€œTold me what?” Sally asked, her voice rising and the three tables of customers now leaning over to hear. “What?! What haven’t you told me, Dickie? Goddamn it, what ?”
    Delice threw down the last of the shot and looked straight at her, eyes shining with what might have been tears and might have been tequila shock. “You’re back, and we are glad, darlin’,” she said quietly, sitting very still. “But you’re not the only one.” Sally waited, going hot and cold and hot again, knowing what