Read The Maestro (Cold Hollow Mysteries Book 3) for Free Online Page B

financial office was open, and Amanda Borges and Artie Lavoie were already hard at work. As she passed the office, she abruptly stopped. Her nose curled in disgust. The entire area smelled foul. Someone had passed wind, and it reminded her of what her abusive husband used to stink like after a night of heavy drinking. The disgusting creature was long gone now from a blow to the head delivered by her two hands. She turned to see Amanda behind her desk with a tissue covering her nose. She noticed Artie Lavoie at his desk, restraining laughter. Myrna’s mouth twisted into an ugly snarl as her blood pressure rose and she slowly unhinged. She growled, “Hey, Artie, guess what? Guess where I was this morning?”
    He sheepishly glanced up at her. “Where?”
    She inhaled a deep breath and began roaring. Her voice increased in octaves along with her anger. “I was in my fantasy world. You know the one. It’s where every woman is beautiful and each male is burly and loaded with enough testosterone to take down Godzilla with a single swat of his hand. It is the world where men are built to please and protect their women above and beyond mortal comprehension.”
    Artie glanced at Amanda with a confused expression but turned back to Myrna as she continued railing on.
    “I go to my fantasy world because—let’s face it—in the real world, men can be beasts! They are the beings who, after living with you for a few years, decide it’s time to let their flatulence fly.” She pounded her fist on the room divider and continued, “Yes, I said flatulence, the stuff that makes your toes curl, your throat gag, your eyes water and roll. Yes, it’s the stuff of a six-pack of beer blended with the sublime aroma of three chili-cheese dogs. If that’s not your scent of the week, then try on some Johnnie Walker Red blended with spicy guacamole and nachos supreme. I don’t care, but men seem to take particular pride in their individual ass emissions. I’m talking about the scent of primordial ooze. They find it grand and belittle you for trying to pathetically ‘squeak’ one out from time to time, as though it was not adequate!” She thrust her hand down upon the room divider again, and Amanda and Artie assumed she was done, but no, she wasn’t. She was on a tear, the likes of which she rarely displayed. Her hair was a mess, and her face was flushed. Perspiration was beginning to bead on her forehead.
    “I seriously doubt that Yankee Candle has even considered these scents! If they did, men would flock to the stores and buy them by the truckload to compare their scents to those of their gaseous comrades. They would fight to get the last ‘Jack’s Ass’ in the sixteen-ounce size, or the ‘I Shit My Pants’ scent of the month! This is the one where you must try to guess what that particular person ate that day to achieve such an aroma.” She wagged her forefinger at Artie. “No cheating—the answer would be hidden on the bottom of the jar. Beer-swilling men would buy them by the score.”
    “Which brings me to another topic for the newbie of relationships.” Her eyes bored into Amanda’s. “God forbid you do their laundry. Your strength will be tested. Never, under any circumstances, take a long look at their underwear. It will leave you scarred, if not blinded. Trust me! Just shove it in the washer and pray to the gods of cleanliness that your task will be successful. It will spare you some heart-crunching despair. Also, see to it that your partner has a good grooming tool. If not, only OxiClean can help you now!”
    Her arms were flailing around in frustration, and she spouted, “It’s no wonder I basically live in my fantasy world. I like it there, and everyone there likes me too. It is a world free of flatulence!” She glared at Artie and through gritted teeth demanded, “Go and get some spray air freshener if you know what’s good for you. And I’m warning you, don’t enter my office today!” She stormed off and