the man had stashed in his front porch light. Then he snuck in and poisoned Minniver’s iced tea with the cyanide, knowing Hurley had potassium cyanide in his shop.”
“Frighteningly clever,” William says, looking both intrigued and appalled.
“I still don’t understand why they went after David,” my mother whines.
“They thought Hurley and Mattie had a thing going on,” Izzy offers. Then he quickly adds, “Understandable, since that’s what David thought, too, leading to a very public argument between him and Hurley at the grocery store, an argument that Colbert witnessed. It gave him one more thing to use to frame Hurley.”
“
“Nope,” Hurley and I both say quickly.
“We’re working partners, nothing more,” I add.
“David may not be here,” Izzy says to my mother, “but be thankful he’s alive. The plan was for him to die in that fire but thanks to Mattie, he didn’t. Your daughter has been a hero three times this week.”
“Yes, I heard that you were the one who shot this Colbert guy,” William says.
Hurley chuckles and says, “Well, technically she shot a rock, but fortunately the bullet ricocheted and hit Colbert.”
I give him an exasperated look. “So I’m not an ace shot,” I grumble. “Sue me.”
Hurley holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, your lousy shooting saved both me and Richmond. If you hadn’t hit the headlight with that first shot, Colbert might have gone after us that much sooner. As it was he thought that shot came from me. He didn’t know I wasn’t armed.”
“How is Richmond?” Dom asks.
“He’s doing fine,” I say. “Ironically his fat slowed the bullet enough that it didn’t do any serious damage. It nicked his bowel and he’s going to be pooping in a bag for a few months, but other than that, he should be okay.”
“Matterhorn Marie Fjell Winston!” my mother admonishes. “We don’t discuss bodily functions at the dinner table.”
Everyone at the table turns to look at me. Izzy shrinks down like a turtle trying to duck back into its shell, William looks confused, and Dom looks apologetic.
Hurley, on the other hand, looks amused. “Matterhorn?” he repeats in a tone that makes it sound like he just tasted something horrid. “Your real name is Matterhorn?”
I shoot my mother a look that rivals one of her own and have the satisfaction of seeing her flinch and clutch at her chest. “Oh my God,” she says. “My days are truly numbered.”
Just as I start to preen, convinced that I’ve finally mastered the talent of The Look, she adds, “Your dog has his nose in my crotch again.”
