Grannies With Guns
  
Grannies With Guns
Published:
6/21/2012
Format:
E-Book (available as Mobi files) What's This
ISBN:
978-1-46890-732-2
When Dee Freeman goes to pay her final respects to her grandmother, she has no idea her life is about to be changed forever. Dee is pulled into a thirty-year-old battle of age and wits between two assassin organizations.
In a small office in North Platte, Nebraska, Dee Freeman worked for the school system. As she worked, she became more and more annoyed with the fly buzzing around her head. “Fly! You shall not survive the day!” She screamed, jumping up, out of her chair, raising her notepad, swatting at it, and missing. She rubbed her bloodshot eyes and hunched back over her computer. Her work was getting to her, she was swamped and the last thing she needed that day was a phone call, especially this phone call. “Hello?” Dee answered, swatting at the fly once more. “Is this Dee J. Freeman?” A man’s deep, sorrow-filled voice asked. “Yes, and this is?” Dee said, tucking a stray lock of short, brown hair behind her right ear. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. It’s your grandmother, Linda, I’m afraid she’s passed away,” The man’s voice was low, and slow, Dee knew he was trying to let her down easy. But, Dee still couldn’t help but begin to sob as quietly as possible in her office. “I’m sorry for your loss. Since, your mother and father have recently moved, I was not able to contact them. The funeral will be next Saturday, at two-thirty, in New York City.” Dee nodded to herself, squeezing her eyes together tightly, “I’ll be there Monday,” Dee told him, her voice cracking as she hung up. Just then, Dee’s boss, Mae, came into her office, a worried look settled on her pale face as she saw Dee and her tear-streaked cheeks. “Dee! What’s wrong?!” Mae asked alarmed. “My grandma . . . She. . . Passed away today . . .” Dee struggled to say between sobs. Mae quickly gave her a hug, “You take all the time off you need! I can keep up with the books!” Dee smiled gratefully, “thank you so much, Mae.” Mae nodded, stepping back. She hesitated at the door, looking back at Dee worriedly. “I’m fine,” Dee reassured her, plastering a smile onto her face. Reluctantly, Mae returned to her office. Scott Smith walked away from the phone, and up to a blonde woman. She was medium height, with blue eyes and round, red earrings. “Yes, Macy, Dee will be down to help with the funeral,” Scott told her. The woman smiled a very warm, pleased smile, but not allowing her teeth to show. “We wouldn’t want her to end up here, now would we?” Scott asked, looking around at the funeral home, trying to lighten the mood. Macy smiled a big, toothy smile, laughing light-heartedly. Scott gasped as he drank his coffee and began coughing. Young, 20 year old Macy had one front tooth and that was it. Scott started to walk away, when he remembered something and spun around, “So you’ll be here to meet her on Monday?” Macy smiled, and nodded. Scott tried his hardest not to stare at her toothless smile. Dee had gathered up her huge, black and white purse, and then, put her cell phone and wallet in it. Then, she took one last look at her office before leaving, the white ceiling fan had settled to a stop and the various filing cabinets didn’t look so mean anymore. She flicked off the lights and locked the door behind her. She allowed one more tear to slip down her cheek. Dee locked the building up for the night. Mae had already left. As she approached her car, Dee saw he reflection in the mirror. Shoulder-length brown hair framed a tan, oval face. Her hair was slightly frizzy and her hazel eyes were still puffy from crying. She glanced away from the reflection, and got into the car. Molly Morris, a small elderly woman, had just walked into Linda Freeman’s small, two bedroom house. She went straight to the end of the hallway, not hesitating at the other two doors she passed on the way. She went into the master bedroom at the end of the hallway, to the smooth wooden desk that was sitting catty-corner, across from the queen-sized bed. She ran her fingertips on the underside of the desk; until her fingers caught on it. Linda had described where she’d hidden it perfectly.
B. Holley, a fifteen-year-old from the Midwest loves to write, sketch, and journal in her freetime. She only has 75% of her brain, and entertains friends by singing "If I Only Had a Brain."
 
 


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