Rose Hill by Pamela Grandstaff

bailing out your Jamaican drug-dealing lover. Admit it! He was having an affair with Theo, who you killed in a jealous rage!”
    “Who said they saw me?”
    “Nobody. I was just messing with ya.”
    “You stink.”
    “I smell better than your Jamaican drug dealer’s dead lover does about now.”
     
     
    The two women settled on Dairy Chef for lunch, and had the place pretty much to themselves. They sat in their usual booth, as far away from the front counter as it was possible to get, near the restrooms.
    “I guess Sarah’s taking over the case,” Hannah said, around her first mouthful of fries.
    Maggie did a great, although unwitting imitation of her mother’s pursed-lipped look of disapproval.
    “She can have him,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction.
    It seemed to Maggie that county sheriff’s investigator Sarah Albright had everything she lacked. Maggie was a tall, curvy woman with blue eyes, pale, freckled skin, and bright red curly hair. She never felt like anything about her appearance was under control. Her shirt was always coming untucked, her pants always felt too tight across her hips yet too loose at the waist, and a wild curl was always escaping from her hairdo. On top of that she was cursed by a rash-like blush which blossomed across her chest and face whenever she felt the slightest emotion.
    Sarah, on the other hand, was tiny and perfectly proportioned. Her clothes were always a coordinated, fashionable ensemble; her shiny, precision-cut hair and flawlessly applied makeup were both flattering and stylish. She was well-educated and confident, and had a natural authority which people seemed to respect.
    Sarah was always condescendingly courteous to her, but Maggie knew she was secretly wondering what Scott found so attractive. Maggie didn’t know either, but she resented the mental comparison she imagined Sarah made between them, in which the younger, slimmer woman easily won. When Sarah was around, Maggie felt like a giant red and white Macy’s Day parade balloon.
    “You should have heard her coming on to him,” Maggie said. “She’s shameless.”
    “You better not let him simmer too long,” Hannah said. “He might just boil over for someone else.”
    Hannah tucked into her lunch with gusto while Maggie brooded some more.
    “We need a comic book name for her,” Hannah said. “What should it be?”
    “You’re better at that than me. You pick.”
    “Tiny Crimefighter?” suggested Hannah.
    “Better yet,” Maggie countered. “Tiny Trollop.”
    “Tiny Trollop, the crime-fighting kitten,” Hannah said. “She’s the tiny paw of the law.”
    Maggie took a bite of her now cold hamburger and made a face. Hannah had already finished her hamburger and a large order of fries, and was keeping an eye on what remained of Maggie’s lunch.
    “What do you think can be wrong with her?” Maggie asked. “She seems so perfect.”
    With this admission , Maggie lost her appetite and put her sandwich down on the tray.
    “Well,” Hannah replied thoughtfully, as she picked up the discarded sandwich and added a thick layer of mustard and ketchup to it, “maybe she has really bad breath, like a coffee-drinking skunk with post nasal drip.”
    “That’s what I like to hear,” Maggie said. “Go on.”
    “And unfortunately I fear there’s a bit of a chronic farting problem,” Hannah said.
    “Poor thing,” Maggie said. “I hate that for her.”
    “It’s very sad,” Hannah said. “These aren’t lady-like tooters we’re talking about. These are noxious methane gases that melt polyester and set cotton on fire. So dangerous is her flatulence that she is forced to wear asbestos panties.”
    “Thanks,” Maggie said. “I feel much better.”
    “That’s what friends are for,” Hannah said. “Are you going to finish those fries?”
     
     
    Scott was deeply asleep when his mother called to see why he had not come to dinner. He hurriedly showered, dressed, and ran over there, where she