Free Death by Lotto by Abigail Keam

Open-toed shoes with toes painted the same color.”
    “Shall I smoke as well?”
    “Can’t stand kissing dames with smoke on their breath. They should taste sweet like strawberries.”
    “I see. Would you like me to tell you what I like in a man?” I asked.
    Neff gave me a cheeky grin before turning his attention back to the road. We were now on a very curvy stretch along the palisades, which needed his concentration.
    “Cut the hair off. I mean all of it. Especially that ridiculous ponytail.”
    Neff started to protest.
    “Shut up. You have had your turn. Again, cut the entire head. Your hair is not worth saving and bald men can be sexy. Shave. I mean every day and put on cologne. Wear clothes from this decade. Get rid of the jewelry except for a ring, and wax that obnoxious hair from your back and neck. It peeks out from your clothes. It’s a wonder that you don’t walk on all fours.”
    “Hey!”
    “Women do not like overly hairy men. It reminds us too much of the cave era when we were chattel.”
    “You’re not now? When did that change?”
    “Cut your nails. Use mouthwash and lots of it. Wear clean underwear – every day. Do this and you might have a fighting chance with a female homo sapiens.
    “Not an overly bright female. But someone lower on the pay grade who is easily fooled.”
    Neff shook his head. “Naw. I’m too much as it is.”
    “I don’t know how I keep my hands from wandering.”
    “I told you not to stifle yourself. Let go, baby. Explore the Neffman.”
    “The Neffman?”
    “All yours for the taking, Toots.”
    “However shall I stand it?”
    “You want me. You know you do.” He put his hand on my knee. “Let’s say we do the nasty after we visit that old biddy at the store. I’ll get a hotel room. Even pay for it.”
    “What a gentleman!”
    His hand started inching up my thigh. “What are you looking for?”
    “My taser and pepper spray,” I replied, rummaging through my purse. “Ahh, there it is.” I pulled out my taser and kissed it.
    Neff pulled his hand away. “Very funny.”
    “You’re all talk, anyway.”
    “Wanna bet?”
    “Let me put it this way. If you were the last man on earth, this time I wouldn’t have to be pushed off a cliff. I would jump of my own accord. Now you’re wearing me out with your constant drivel. Shall we concentrate on the case?”
    Walter Neff pursed his lips and popped some gum into his mouth.
    After that, I refused to talk to him although he mumbled frequently. I would catch a few words here and there like “think she is” and “stuck-up female.” You know that bunch of cliché crap men spout when they don’t get their way.
    As I cracked open my window to let in some fresh air, I wondered if Neff was really serious or just yanking my chain. I wondered if he knew.
    I wondered if he wondered.

11
    We coasted into Harrodsburg, a small southern town of eight thousand souls. It was the first city founded in Kentucky and its fort was built even earlier than Fort Boonesborough, its more famous counterpart, by one year – 1774. But nobody remembers its founder, James Harrod, while everyone knows of Daniel Boone, the founder of Boonesborough. Daniel Boone just had a better PR posse.
    Harrodsburg’s main claim today is an exact replica of the same fort built on some thirty-two acres right in the heart of the town. The only thing missing is the stench from the rude hygiene customs of the day. Pioneers used to say that one smelled a fort long before it came into view.
    Of course, the replica fort also lacks the courtyard comprised entirely of mud, flies and the filthy inhabitants that made up the fort. Today the fort’s imprint encompasses a beautiful lawn, gift shop, sparkling clean cabins and well-groomed re-enactors.
    Another Harrodsburg highlight is the Beaumont Inn, a B&B that specializes in southern cooking. Walking into the main building is like walking into the past, as much of its nineteenth century furniture is still very