Will You Marry Me? (Sam Darling Mystery Book 4) by Jerilyn Dufresne Page A
Authors: Jerilyn Dufresne
Ads: Link
I noticed why. Jeremiah was there. Hmm. Did he just drop by...or maybe he never left?
We said good morning to them both enthusiastically, and sat in the homey kitchen. Clancy greeted Fifi with a kiss and avoided going near Thor.
I ate eggs with toast, and drank two strong cups of coffee, all the while enjoying the bacon scent.
"I feel like the worst vegetarian in the world," I whined.
"Well," George said through a mouthful of bacon, "stop worrying. At least you don't eat it. And we have a lot more than your angst to work on today."
"Another reason I love you." I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, snagged a slice of bacon and split it between Clancy and Fifi. "You can put me in my place without me getting all bent out of shape about it."
While I showered, George talked to Jeremiah about the case. George was in our room by the time I finished and handed me my jeans and a pullover cotton sweater--in a blue that matched my eyes.
"Jeremiah suggested we go to the Chicken Convention and ask some questions. He's going to meet with the archeological team a little later."
"Sounds good. Let's go." This time I brought Clancy with us. I was anxious to get sleuthing. We walked behind the gas station so didn't see the grave or if anyone was working there. "Hmm, wonder what Jeremiah's doing that's so important that he's not working early this morning. Think there's romance afoot?"
George did the wise thing and ignored me.
The first thing I noticed when we entered the Crackertown Motel and Convention Center was that the tiny conference room was a sea of yellow. Clancy stopped abruptly for a moment as she confronted a roomful of gigantic chickens. Her nose started working overtime. "They aren't real chickens, Clancy," I said. She looked at me as if I was stating the obvious.
Everyone had on the exact same kind of chicken outfit, which looked like sort of a Big Bird knock off, only the people, or chickens, were a lot shorter. I saw various sizes of people but they were impossible to distinguish from each other, and it was also impossible to see if someone was a hen or a rooster. They were genderless, with no distinguishing marks.
"I feel like I'm being smothered by a down pillow. If these feathers were real it would be impossible for me to stop sneezing," George said. "Let's find the leader."
He went up to a nearby chicken and said, "I need to talk to the boss."
The chicken clucked, and that was it.
"I'm serious," George said. "I need to speak to your leader. Now."
With that, the chicken pointed to a small group of chickens nearby.
"Which one of you is the leader of this organization?"
A tall chicken flapped a wing. I assumed that meant he or she was the person.
"I need to talk to you. It's important."
The chicken clucked and raised his shoulders as if to say, "I can't help you. I can't talk."
George took a step toward him and got in his chicken face as he flashed his badge. "I said, 'I need to talk to you. It's important.' I am serious. Let's go somewhere we can talk. NOW!"
The chicken motioned for George to follow him. As we left the room the chicken clucked at various other chickens, using different intonations. I wondered if they had a chicken language that only they understood.
The chicken leader led us outside to the corridor and around the corner to the door of a motel room. He pulled a key out of God knows where and opened his door. As soon as he entered he turned and lifted a wing, directing us to stay where we were. He went into the bathroom and a few minutes later emerged as one of the Bobs.
"What?" I said. "How could you be a chicken? Didn't we see all of you guys together yesterday? Which one are you? You're not Bob Bob are you? Please say you aren't Bob Bob." I didn't know why I didn't want him to be Bob Bob. It wasn't like he was my friend or anything, but he was one of the first people we had met in Crackertown, and I didn't want him to be involved in murder.
"No," the erstwhile chicken
We said good morning to them both enthusiastically, and sat in the homey kitchen. Clancy greeted Fifi with a kiss and avoided going near Thor.
I ate eggs with toast, and drank two strong cups of coffee, all the while enjoying the bacon scent.
"I feel like the worst vegetarian in the world," I whined.
"Well," George said through a mouthful of bacon, "stop worrying. At least you don't eat it. And we have a lot more than your angst to work on today."
"Another reason I love you." I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, snagged a slice of bacon and split it between Clancy and Fifi. "You can put me in my place without me getting all bent out of shape about it."
While I showered, George talked to Jeremiah about the case. George was in our room by the time I finished and handed me my jeans and a pullover cotton sweater--in a blue that matched my eyes.
"Jeremiah suggested we go to the Chicken Convention and ask some questions. He's going to meet with the archeological team a little later."
"Sounds good. Let's go." This time I brought Clancy with us. I was anxious to get sleuthing. We walked behind the gas station so didn't see the grave or if anyone was working there. "Hmm, wonder what Jeremiah's doing that's so important that he's not working early this morning. Think there's romance afoot?"
George did the wise thing and ignored me.
The first thing I noticed when we entered the Crackertown Motel and Convention Center was that the tiny conference room was a sea of yellow. Clancy stopped abruptly for a moment as she confronted a roomful of gigantic chickens. Her nose started working overtime. "They aren't real chickens, Clancy," I said. She looked at me as if I was stating the obvious.
Everyone had on the exact same kind of chicken outfit, which looked like sort of a Big Bird knock off, only the people, or chickens, were a lot shorter. I saw various sizes of people but they were impossible to distinguish from each other, and it was also impossible to see if someone was a hen or a rooster. They were genderless, with no distinguishing marks.
"I feel like I'm being smothered by a down pillow. If these feathers were real it would be impossible for me to stop sneezing," George said. "Let's find the leader."
He went up to a nearby chicken and said, "I need to talk to the boss."
The chicken clucked, and that was it.
"I'm serious," George said. "I need to speak to your leader. Now."
With that, the chicken pointed to a small group of chickens nearby.
"Which one of you is the leader of this organization?"
A tall chicken flapped a wing. I assumed that meant he or she was the person.
"I need to talk to you. It's important."
The chicken clucked and raised his shoulders as if to say, "I can't help you. I can't talk."
George took a step toward him and got in his chicken face as he flashed his badge. "I said, 'I need to talk to you. It's important.' I am serious. Let's go somewhere we can talk. NOW!"
The chicken motioned for George to follow him. As we left the room the chicken clucked at various other chickens, using different intonations. I wondered if they had a chicken language that only they understood.
The chicken leader led us outside to the corridor and around the corner to the door of a motel room. He pulled a key out of God knows where and opened his door. As soon as he entered he turned and lifted a wing, directing us to stay where we were. He went into the bathroom and a few minutes later emerged as one of the Bobs.
"What?" I said. "How could you be a chicken? Didn't we see all of you guys together yesterday? Which one are you? You're not Bob Bob are you? Please say you aren't Bob Bob." I didn't know why I didn't want him to be Bob Bob. It wasn't like he was my friend or anything, but he was one of the first people we had met in Crackertown, and I didn't want him to be involved in murder.
"No," the erstwhile chicken
Similar Books
