Free Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky by Sharon Love Cook

story. A short, barrel-chested man, he gazed up at me in wonder. “So you’re Rose McNichols. Do you know how much I enjoy your stories in the
Granite Cove Gazette?”
    I smiled modestly as he pumped my hand, his grin bigger and whiter than Dawnette Vicari’s, the local beauty queen. The man’s enthusiasm was a stark contrast to his brother, who’s never been known to smile.
    Yet despite his cheerful countenance, I’d heard stories about Chief Alfano’s corrupt brother. Bunny certainly looked the part. The gaudy jacket, gold chains and perennial tan shouted Atlantic City off-season. Yet, though I was prepared to dislike the man and what he stood for, it’s hard to diss someone who acts like I’m the greatest thing since tortilla wraps. Sadly, it’s one of my biggest character flaws. When someone sucks up, I’m a sucker for it.
    He continued shaking my hand. “I’d love you to interview me as soon as I get my campaign up and running.” He lowered his voice. “After a period of respect for the deceased, of course.”
    “Of course,” I said, attempting to extricate my hand from Bunny’s grip.
    Betty Ann saved me by announcing, “Rose, it’s time we paid our respects in the mourning chapel.”
    I yanked my hand loose. “You folks will excuse us?”
    Bunny pouted while Martha looked relieved. Spencer nodded benevolently. “You two go right ahead. We’ll follow later.”
    “What’s the rush?” I asked, catching up to B.A, who plowed through the crowd.
    She spun around and jabbed her finger in my chest. “Listen, McNichols, I like wakes about as much as I like Martha Farley. When I have to deal with both at the same time, I get nauseous. Furthermore, how can you be civil to that man? Don’t you know what he and Martha are up to? They plan to put up villas at Settler’s Dunes. Villas!”
    “They can’t. That’s town land.”
    “That’s what everyone thinks. Now I hear that all these years it’s been held in a trust by the Frost family. The last remaining member has the option to sell. Guess what? It turns out he’s broke.”
    Betty Ann’s words were preposterous and at the same time plausible. “If that were so, the
Gazette
would be covering it.”
    “Really? When Bunny Alfano is involved, people don’t intrude. It’s bad for their health. Now can we please go home?”
    “Shh. We said we’re going to the mourning chapel, remember?”
    “So what? Pretend I left my glasses at home. It’s dark in there. I might trip over a body.”
    “Betty Ann, it would be rude to walk out now after saying we’re going inside. What if they’re watching?” As if on cue, we turned and spotted Bunny grinning and waving from across the room. “See? We can’t sneak out now.”
    “Yes we can. I’m not like you, Rose. I don’t have a compulsion to be nice to phonies.”
    Her remark touched a sore spot. It’s true I crave approval from the guardians of good taste, but at the same time I enjoy shocking them. This dichotomy, the yin and yang of my character, is most likely genetic. From my dad I inherited a feisty iconoclasm, and from my mother, a dread of calling attention to oneself. After all, her family motto was
die, but don’t let the neighbors know.
    In any event, B.A was attracting attention. I took her arm as if she were a cranky child in need of humoring. Leading her to the double doors of the chapel, I said, “You can stay here or you can go inside with me. In either case, I’m going in to pay my respects.”
    She patted me on the head. “You’re cute when you get spunky.” Then she reached over my head and swung open the door. “I might as well go with you. Just make sure I don’t trip over any short people.”
    Inside, the stillness of the chapel seemed a world away from the milling crowd outside. The narrow room with its rows of upholstered benches was lit with candles and recessed lighting. A long burgundy runner led to an altar where a gleaming white coffin sat surrounded by