A dead opponent is one way to win an election…unless you wind up in jail for the murder.
Gloria Summerside is trailing in the poles but front-runner as a murder suspect when her mud-slinging opponent is poisoned. Is someone out to frame Judge Guillotine Gloria? Will she be the one behind bars this time? Can her daughter find the real killer or will they have adjoining cells?
“Dear God in heaven, it is Scumbucket!” I said peering over KiKi’s shoulder. I made the sign of the cross for maligning the dead and braced for a lightning bolt to strike.
KiKi collapsed down in Scumbucket’s desk chair and picked a paper off the desk. “Look at this, it’s Scumbucket’s campaign speech and it’s all about your mamma ruining Savannah.”
Shock of Scumbucket dead faded and me being plain old madder than a wet hen took its place. I grabbed the receiver and jabbed 911. “Kip Seymour is dead as a frog on four-lane over here at his campaign headquarters on Bull Street,” I said to dispatch. “No, this isn’t a joke. He’s just lying there staring at the carpet and not in a Gee ain’t this a nice carpet way. I didn’t kill him, tempting as it might be, the no-good piece of crud.” I gave my name and KiKi’s getting an auntie eye roll that weren’t focusing too well at the moment.
I snagged her arm, hauled her off the chair and ushered her into the main room where campaign volunteers, life and theme song carried on as usual, a little color retuning to her cheeks.
“In two minutes the cops are going to come barreling though that door,” I whispered to KiKi hoping to get her mind off things dead. “Any suggestions how we can prepare all these workers?
“Yell The jackass bit the big one and run like the dickens before someone recognizes us?”
Translation...a little fresh air and Auntie KiKi was back to being Auntie KiKi.