Free A Rip Roaring Good Time by Jeanne Glidewell Page B

that Chief Smith, being Chief Smith, will push the envelope as far as he possibly can. He'll likely pay no attention to that law whatsoever."
    We were only marginally relieved to hear Wendy's response. I'd been silent during the conversation so far. I was brooding about how Rip and I might be able to help out with the situation. We were to be at the inn for at least a week while the mechanics at Boney's garage completed the repairs on our travel trailer. No sense sitting on our cans twiddling our thumbs during that time. And particularly not if we had a friend in need who could use our help.
    At first I'd prayed the repairs would be taken care of as quickly as possible, given they were costing us seventy-five hard-earned bucks an hour. But now the penny-pinching trait in me had been swallowed up completely by the righteousness one. I didn't care how long the repairs took now that we had a more important issue to contend with while they were being completed. Neither Rip nor I had any intention of leaving town while Lexie was rotting away in jail.
    Okay, I'll admit that perhaps "rotting away" was a little melodramatic, but I knew she wasn't a happy camper about being incarcerated, even if only temporarily. I could remember what my pappy always said after having spent time in jail for a public intoxication or disturbing the peace arrest, both of which occurred frequently.
    Pappy would stuff a wad of Beechnut in his mouth, chew for a spell, spit on the ground—or on occasion his already grimy boots—and say, "The big house is not a place you'll ever want to find yourself, Princess. Being locked up there is about as much fun as having a bear drop a load in your Easter basket."
    I'd been too young to comprehend what he was saying. As a child it seemed to me that the "big house" would be preferable to the dilapidated, dirt-floored, three-room flea trap we lived in at the time. But if Pappy said otherwise, I figured it must be so.

Chapter 6

    It was nearly midnight when Detective Johnston called to tell Stone that nothing further would happen until morning regarding the case, including a change in Lexie's imprisonment. He'd seen to it she'd had a comfortable cot and a decent meal since the catered supper had gone uneaten. I knew for a fact she'd skipped lunch as well, too busy to take the time to eat—as had I. He suggested we all get some sleep and that he'd call again in the morning after he'd heard the latest on the situation.
    We agreed. We were all wrung out from being fraught with worry and shell-shocked by the vicious murder that had taken place in the parlor that evening. Stone had been especially concerned about his wife's welfare, naturally, but was also muttering about what affect yet another murder in the Alexandria Inn might have on their bed and breakfast business. I'd heard him remark to his stepdaughter, "Wendy, how many people do you think can get killed in the inn before customers are too scared to stay here? So far, the first two murders have not seemed to slow down the steady stream of guests, but eventually the word will get around that booking a room here is a bit like playing Russian roulette. We'll be deemed 'the house of horrors,' I'm afraid."
    "Don't worry, Stone," she'd replied. "It'll all work out in the end. Mom, and the business, will come out just fine. Try to get some rest, as hard as that'll be for all of us, no doubt."
    I'm pretty sure the only one who slept at all that night was Dolly. She'd had a very active day. The Alexandria Inn was a half-a-block long, and it had no doubt been a long, tedious task for her to get it all sniffed out. It was a vital part of the feline job description. And who could tell when the food fairy might leave an unanticipated cat treat in an obscure location? I'm sure this was Dolly's line of thinking since she appeared to believe she was always be on the brink of dying of starvation.
    My mind was racing, preventing me from nodding off. At around three-thirty in the