She was going to kill them all for that indignity alone, after she’d filed every legal charge in the world against them.
The TV reporter was wearing what could probably be called a Sex and the City version of a power suit, which meant it had a very short skirt. A very short skirt that had ridden up with all her struggles, exposing her thong panties.
And thus the sun shone bright on Valerie Breaux’s buttocks.
Very nice buttocks, by the way.
“Is she moonin’ us?” Tante Lulu wanted to know.
“I never could figure out why women want to wear those thong thingees,” Maddie mused. “Seems to me they’d be mighty uncomfortable, up in your crack and all.”
“I like ’em,” J.B. said.
Maddie probably would have hit her husband if he hadn’t had his hands full of Valerie. Instead, she suggested, “You wear ’em then, honey.” Honey was not said as an endearment.
René felt like pulling his hair out, one root at a time, over the irrelevance of this chitchat. Meanwhile, Valerie’s tush was waving in the wind.
Then, J.B. turned slightly and René got a good look at Valerie’s face. Her shoulder-length, wavy black hair hung loose all over the place, but still he was able to see her midnight blue eyes, which flashed angrily. Against the duct tape, she screamed something that sounded pretty much like, “Flngukkk yuuuaauu!” It probably wasn’t a howdy greeting.
Grabbing a knife out of his toolbox, he walked over and lifted her off J.B.’s shoulder. She was unsteady on her high heels, but he managed to stand her against a tree and cut away the restraints. He saved the duct tape for last.
Once the tape was off, the first thing she did was shimmy down her skirt. Then she spun around to face him. “René LeDeux! I should’ve known you’d be behind these shenanigans.”
“Hey, I had nothing to do with this.”
“Save it for the judge, bozo.”