Dune to Death by Mary Daheim Page B

the young couple who looked as if they might have enough brains between them to qualify as Normal.
    â€œHi,” squeaked the young woman, whose unnaturally blond hair was not quite held in place by a huge polka-dot bow. “I’m Larissa, and this is Donn Bobb. He’s a clown.”
    Leaning wearily on the doorframe, Judith nodded dutifully. “I’m sure he is,” she said. “Where’s his bozo horn? Or does he have a dulcimer?”
    Larissa’s wide-set gray eyes grew enormous. “A…? He had the measles once. Three-day. You should have seen his butt!” She laughed immoderately.
    Judith had the feeling that Donn Bobb’s butt might be next. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to be patient, “but are you here for a reason or did we just get lucky?”
    Donn Bobb, whose long, sandy hair fell about his forehead, his shoulders, and even seemed to curl under his chin, lazily swatted his companion’s bottom. “Now, Fruit Loops, don’t go aggravatin’ people. This lady’s paid to stay here and she has a right to know why we’ve come.” He made a surprisingly graceful bow, which somehow seemed in contrast with his burly body. “Larissa’s auntie got herself killed her last night and she wants to pay herrespects. As it were.” He gave Judith a plaintive look, then put out a big paw. “Donn Bobb Lima, rodeo clown and all-around auto mechanic. I’m here for the pea-rade.”
    Larissa Lima laughed again, recalling the raucous sounds of her late aunt. “Donn Bobb’s from Texas, that’s why he talks funny. You ought to hear him sing! Why, one time, we were at this bar in Galveston, he got up there behind the chicken wire where they can’t hit you with the beer bottles, and some of the crowd…”
    Donn Bobb gave Larissa a semigentle shove and came into the kitchen. “The livin’ room, somebody said. You ladies found her, right?”
    â€œRight,” agreed Judith, leading the way. “It was my cousin, Mrs. Jones, actually…”
    They had all arrived in the living room except Renie, who had decided to forage in the refrigerator. Judith stepped aside as Larissa knelt down beside the chalk outline of Leona Ogilvie’s body. Sudden, convulsive sobs erupted from the young woman’s throat. She threw herself at her husband and grabbed him around the knees.
    â€œOh! Poor Aunt Leona! Oh! She was so sweet! All those years with the pygmies, devoted to Jesus! I never knew a kinder or more fair-minded person in my whole life!” She sobbed some more while Donn Bobb absently patted her artificially-colored curls and yawned. “You gotta sing at the funeral, Donn Bobb! Her favorite was ‘The Old Ragged Cross.’”
    â€œâ€˜Rugged,’” murmured Judith, but didn’t expect either of the Limas to hear her. They didn’t. Instead, Larissa climbed Donn Bobb’s frame until she had gotten to her feet, then flopped down on the sofa, a hand over her eyes. Mascara oozed onto her cheeks. Renie ambled in, munching on a piece of toast smeared with strawberry jam about a half-inch thick.
    â€œThere’s no ham in that refrigerator,” she declared. “Did we eat it all?”
    Judith gave her cousin an arch glance. “ You did. This morning.” She eased herself into the rocker. “Your aunt was a missionary, I hear. Brazil?”
    Larissa nodded. Donn Bobb sat down next to his wife, twiddling his thick thumbs and looking decidedly uncomfortable. There were dark circles under his heavy-lidded brown eyes. Larissa ran a hand through her tousled hair, wiped at the streaks of mascara, and hitched one thumb in the belt loop of her cutoff jeans. “I hadn’t seen her since she got back. Auntie left for the jungle over twenty years ago, when I was just a tot. It’s lucky we got to see her at all—we only came to town Sunday, Donn Bobb having been