Summer Reading is Killing Me (Phee Jefferson Book 2) by Amy E. Lilly Page A
Authors: Amy E. Lilly
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the table and sat forward to listen.
Mission accomplished. Feet secured to the floor.
“Tessa Brewer was an accomplice in an armed robbery when she was sixteen years
old.”
“What the heck? Are you kidding me? Details, Phee . I want all the juicy details,” Juliet practically
panted like a puppy in her eagerness to hear my news.
“On one condition. You never call me Pheeble Mind again.”
“Fine. People have no sense of humor. It isn’t my
fault Mom and Dad gave you a name begging for mockery. So what’s the word,
nerd?”
“Tessa was the getaway driver for her own father.
Truth is stranger than fiction. She and her father pulled a string of armed
robberies all over Arkansas. Turns out, that’s where she lived before moving to
this state. Her dad shot a man during a hold-up at a convenience store in some podunk town. The police caught them, and Tessa was almost
tried as an adult. Her defense attorney argued her deadbeat dad made her drive
the car. Since the dad was her only living family member, the judge took pity
on her. He sentenced her to a juvenile facility until her eighteenth birthday.
After her release, she fell off the radar screen until about four years ago
when she began writing a gossip column for the newspaper.”
“Holy jalapeños! A convicted robber right here in
our midst. We need to meet Tessa and question her. She has a criminal mind
already. I just moved her onto our suspect list,” Juliet declared. If she had a
badge and a gun, my sister would be lethal. Lethal with her 1970s cop lingo,
that is.
“I met her. She reinvented herself better than a prisoner
turned preacher. She wears Coco Chanel and designer shoes. No southern accent
and she has the attitude of a spoiled socialite from the Hamptons. She threw a
hissy fit in Abe’s today over a tomato because it wasn’t heirloom and organic.
You’re right about one thing. She has a criminal mind. She killed one of Abe’s
tomatoes right in the produce aisle with her bare hands!”
Chapter fourteen
Juliet and I walked to Longfellow Park fifteen
minutes before the start of the memorial service. We weren’t the only ones
curious about the events unfolding in our small village. The majority of the
town crowded the small park. Between the news reporters, townsfolk, and people
arriving from out of town for the service, Miller’s Cove had never seen so much
action. Our sleepy hamlet was now a bustling metropolis and murder was the
cause.
I spotted Nellie Jo and Mike milling around near
the band shell. I lifted my hand and waved. Juliet and I shouldered our way
through the masses until we made our way to where they stood. “Nellie Jo, I
knew I’d find you here,” I said.
“Why me and Mike wouldn’t miss a big event like
this. I got my autograph book with me. I plan on meeting a movie star or
somebody famous tonight.” Nellie Jo showed us the bright red autograph book she
held in her hand.
“I didn’t realize they made autograph books
still,” I said.
“I’ve had this book since I was a little girl.
Look here. I’ve got an autograph from Rowdy Rick. He was famous in the
seventies in the wrestling ring. I even got Boots Chavez, the famous zydeco
musician. One day this here little book is gonna be
worth a ton of money,” Nellie Jo proclaimed. Mike rolled his eyes. Mike was as
gray as Nellie Jo was colorful. A quiet man, he spent his time working at his
pickle factory and rarely ventured into town. From conversations with Nellie in
the past, I knew Mike collected guns and didn’t care for the federal government
too much. According to Nellie, Mike ranted about the government trying to
control his pickle brine with too many “dag burn regulations.”
“I don’t know how many celebrities will be here
tonight,” Juliet said. “It will mostly be Elody’s groupies and the press.”
“I don’t care. If they look famous, I’m gonna get them to sign my book,” Nellie Jo declared.
“Mrs. Lassiter is trying to get
Mission accomplished. Feet secured to the floor.
“Tessa Brewer was an accomplice in an armed robbery when she was sixteen years
old.”
“What the heck? Are you kidding me? Details, Phee . I want all the juicy details,” Juliet practically
panted like a puppy in her eagerness to hear my news.
“On one condition. You never call me Pheeble Mind again.”
“Fine. People have no sense of humor. It isn’t my
fault Mom and Dad gave you a name begging for mockery. So what’s the word,
nerd?”
“Tessa was the getaway driver for her own father.
Truth is stranger than fiction. She and her father pulled a string of armed
robberies all over Arkansas. Turns out, that’s where she lived before moving to
this state. Her dad shot a man during a hold-up at a convenience store in some podunk town. The police caught them, and Tessa was almost
tried as an adult. Her defense attorney argued her deadbeat dad made her drive
the car. Since the dad was her only living family member, the judge took pity
on her. He sentenced her to a juvenile facility until her eighteenth birthday.
After her release, she fell off the radar screen until about four years ago
when she began writing a gossip column for the newspaper.”
“Holy jalapeños! A convicted robber right here in
our midst. We need to meet Tessa and question her. She has a criminal mind
already. I just moved her onto our suspect list,” Juliet declared. If she had a
badge and a gun, my sister would be lethal. Lethal with her 1970s cop lingo,
that is.
“I met her. She reinvented herself better than a prisoner
turned preacher. She wears Coco Chanel and designer shoes. No southern accent
and she has the attitude of a spoiled socialite from the Hamptons. She threw a
hissy fit in Abe’s today over a tomato because it wasn’t heirloom and organic.
You’re right about one thing. She has a criminal mind. She killed one of Abe’s
tomatoes right in the produce aisle with her bare hands!”
Chapter fourteen
Juliet and I walked to Longfellow Park fifteen
minutes before the start of the memorial service. We weren’t the only ones
curious about the events unfolding in our small village. The majority of the
town crowded the small park. Between the news reporters, townsfolk, and people
arriving from out of town for the service, Miller’s Cove had never seen so much
action. Our sleepy hamlet was now a bustling metropolis and murder was the
cause.
I spotted Nellie Jo and Mike milling around near
the band shell. I lifted my hand and waved. Juliet and I shouldered our way
through the masses until we made our way to where they stood. “Nellie Jo, I
knew I’d find you here,” I said.
“Why me and Mike wouldn’t miss a big event like
this. I got my autograph book with me. I plan on meeting a movie star or
somebody famous tonight.” Nellie Jo showed us the bright red autograph book she
held in her hand.
“I didn’t realize they made autograph books
still,” I said.
“I’ve had this book since I was a little girl.
Look here. I’ve got an autograph from Rowdy Rick. He was famous in the
seventies in the wrestling ring. I even got Boots Chavez, the famous zydeco
musician. One day this here little book is gonna be
worth a ton of money,” Nellie Jo proclaimed. Mike rolled his eyes. Mike was as
gray as Nellie Jo was colorful. A quiet man, he spent his time working at his
pickle factory and rarely ventured into town. From conversations with Nellie in
the past, I knew Mike collected guns and didn’t care for the federal government
too much. According to Nellie, Mike ranted about the government trying to
control his pickle brine with too many “dag burn regulations.”
“I don’t know how many celebrities will be here
tonight,” Juliet said. “It will mostly be Elody’s groupies and the press.”
“I don’t care. If they look famous, I’m gonna get them to sign my book,” Nellie Jo declared.
“Mrs. Lassiter is trying to get
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