MBDD excerpt 4.2

      Another excerpt for Frenzied Feline since she woohooed the last one in the comments. I reward my fans. Well, fan, anyway. In this excerpt, Bernard and Lisa talk, and Bernard says almost everything wrong.

Excerpt 4.2 from Murder by Dewey Decimal
Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

Chapter 4.2

      "Imagine that," Lisa said as she and Bernard drove back to her place. "All this time, Agatha was a millionaire. This is going to make a great story!" And she needed to sell another to the Dispatch. Her checking account was getting a bad case of anemia.
      She had worried that Veit would assign another reporter to cover the murders while she was in the hospital, but the Dispatch editor had not -- probably due more to being short-handed than her writing skills, she thought ruefully. And if he had known about the attack, he probably would have, but he didn't learn of it until the morning of the second day after it when Bernard had faxed her story to the Dispatch.
      "What I like to know is where that money came from," Bernard said, turning onto Owens Street. "It just doesn't make any sense. More than once she told me that Eliah Ryton left her nothing. She was very bitter about it."
      "Eliah was her grandfather, right?" Lisa asked. At Bernard's nod, she continued, "So what happened to her parents?"
      "Well, this story is from Millie who swears her mother told her, so your guess is as good as mine concerning its truth, but, Millie says Agatha's mother, Margaret, was pretty wild at least by the standards of that time. She ended up getting pregnant. She never told anyone who the father was, and he never showed up. Margaret died giving birth to Agatha and Evelyn -- fraternal twins if you haven't guessed. Old Eliah raised the girls but could never forgive their mother. So he took it out on them."
      "Good lord, it's like a soap opera," Lisa said. "I actually feel sorry for her. It's no wonder she was such a crone."
      "Yeah, maybe. In some ways, I guess life does shape us, but still it's not an excuse to let it make you mean," Bernard said. "What she said to her sister in that will was vicious, pure and simple."
      "Sometimes it's hard not to be," Lisa said slowly. "It's easy to say you shouldn't let things affect you, but it's a lot harder to do when you're the one they're happening to. And when you're pushed around a lot, there comes a point where you start getting mad at the world because its sole purpose seems to be to dump on you, and then you decide to start dumping back." Lisa realized Bernard was looking at her strangely. "I'm not saying it's right; I'm just saying it's understandable. And maybe her sister really did steal the family jewelry."
      "I guess so," Bernard said, pulling up in Lisa's drive.
      Lisa thought about it for a moment and thought about it some more and then asked, "What exactly does 'I guess so' mean? Does that mean: 'Yes, I agree' or does it mean: 'No, I don't agree, but I'm too polite to say so.'"
      "What kind of question is that?" Bernard asked.
      "The interrogative kind," Lisa said, turning to look squarely at Bernard.
      "I guess it means I don't know for sure," Bernard said. "Does it matter?"
      "Yes, it does," Lisa said. "One way, you're being judgmental, and the other, you're being understanding. There's a big difference."
      "I don't understand what we're talking about," Bernard said. "Why is this such a big deal?"
      Lisa sat quietly, realizing why she had started this and gathering together her courage to tell him. "Because I couldn't get deeply involved with someone who saw the world in such a bleak and black-and-white fashion."
      A long silence.
      "Are we getting deeply involved?" Bernard asked.
      "I don't know," Lisa said. "I'm confused about us, about if there's even an 'us' to be confused about. What exactly are we to each other?"
      Bernard didn't say anything.
      "Look, we've been together a lot these past few days," Lisa said. "And we've done some kissing so I know this is a little more than just friends. I'd just like to know if we're going to try to be more than that."
      "Do you want us to be -- more than just friends?" Bernard asked, looking out the side window and apparently finding Lisa's garbage can endlessly fascinating.
      "I don't know. Do you?" Lisa asked, seemingly finding the shrubs that lined her drive as interesting as Bernard found her trash can to be.
      "What does being more than just friends mean? Are we talking about going steady, having sex, getting married or all or none of the above?" he asked.
      "Some, all or maybe none," Lisa said.
      "That's not much of an answer."
      "Sorry. I don't know. But I think we need to talk about it," she said, turning to look at him. "I don't know if we have something good here or not, but I think it might be. I'm willing to find out if you're willing."
      Bernard looked at her.
      "Well?" she asked, feeling her pulse in her temples.
      "I don't know what you want me to say," Bernard said. "I think if something happens between us, it'll happen. I don't think we can force it."
      "That's not what I meant," she said. "It's just that if we don't make some choices toward that direction, it won't happen because circumstances aren't going to allow it."
      "What circumstances?" he asked, placing his hands behind his head.
      "Look, I'm having to make some decisions here," she said. "I don't have a job, and my money is getting low--"
      "I'll loan you some," Bernard cut in.
      "Thanks, but no thanks," she said. "That's not good for any relationship. But what I'm trying to say is that if we have something good here, I'll try to find a job in Ryton. If not, I'm probably going to try somewhere else."
      "I think you should do what's best for you and not worry about our relationship," Bernard said. "I mean--"
      "Never mind," she said, as she got out of the car. "Good night." She walked to the house, hoping he would come after her. He didn't.
      She closed and locked the door. Picking up Obsidian, she walked up the stairs. When she looked in the mirror, she realized tears glistened on her cheeks. She wiped them away. This is stupid, she chided herself. I've barely known him for a week. We come from entirely different backgrounds. He's only being friendly. And if it's anything more on his part, it's because he's on the rebound from Sherry what's-her-name.
      She took a deep breath. Obsidian purred as she scratched his head gently. Placing the ebony cat on the bed, Lisa sat down at her desk. It was unlike her to become attached so quickly to someone. Since the attack she seemed unable to control the swings of her emotions. Sometimes she simply became afraid for no reason. The chief had told her yesterday that he was no closer to finding whoever attacked her and murdered Agatha and Leonard. It made her angry and frightened that her assailant was still out there, literally getting away with murder, while she jumped at every unexpected noise and shadow. Yesterday, she had spent a large amount of badly needed money on a handgun. She had never owned a gun in her life, and now a blue-steel weapon rested in her top desk drawer. The man at the sporting goods store had shown her how to load it and told her that the YMCA had a shooting range she could use.
      She walked downstairs and mixed herself a rum and Coke. Sitting on the sofa, she took two sips and then stopped. What am I doing? What. Am. I. Doing? She poured the drink down the kitchen sink.
      "I'm too strong for this to break me," she said, listening to the sound of her words and pulling courage from them. Tomorrow, she would see about talking to that friendly minister at The United Fellowship Church. She knew he counseled with people and didn't charge for his services. A friend of hers recommended him highly. She nodded to herself. Talking to someone would be a good idea.
      She went back upstairs and sat down at her typewriter to write up a story about Agatha's will. Agatha's money will certainly pump new interest into the story, she thought.
      And, tomorrow, she decided, I'm going to type up my resume and see about getting on as a reporter for the Dispatch. I'm not going to be able to live on what they pay a stringer. And if Veit doesn't want me, maybe he can suggest a suburban paper that will, but I'm finished with Ryton. She nodded firmly and began to type. She became immersed in the story and only thought of Bernard occasionally.

End excerpt. Copyright 2007. All rights reserved. No copying or downloading without express written permission.