I know the kinds of things they say about me. Hmmph! Behind my back, I might add. And even if they're not sayin' it, I can tell they're thinkin’ it. They’ll smirk and shake their heads, “That Flo Sullivan. What a character! Can you believe her?”
What’s that you say? Who says this? Why, everyone in the village. Everyone in Snowflake! They make fun of my outfits. They make fun of my hair! I know for a fact that Lucky Jamieson called my hair psychedelic. Can you believe that? What a nerve! My hair is naturally kind of a lovely raspberry color, well, maybe kind of orange and raspberry. It’s my real color, at least it was once upon a time before all those gray and white hairs started to sprout. Now I color my hair myself and I think it’s pretty gorgeous, if you really want to know.
So what if I’m fond of reds and yellows and oranges and stuff and mix them all up in my outfits? I have a real sense of style, not like those other dowdy creatures in town. Dullards! All of them. I just have to remember not to judge them. They can't help it. They certainly don’t have my talents. If they can’t appreciate a woman with a little pizazz, then that’s their problem. I’m certainly not gonna change, I’m gonna keep on being myself in all my glorious colors.
And I’m definitely not stupid. Well, no one’s called me that exactly, but they do think I’m a little thick. I don’t agree. At least I had the good sense not to get mixed up with that Cordelia Rank and her crazy Earth Mother ceremony in the woods. They can make fun of me all they want, but I didn’t have to watch that poor woman die, much less put up with the likes of Cordelia Rank, utter snob that she is. And then spend the night shivering in the woods and answering questions for the police. Tell me, who’s the dumb one now?
If you ask me, they all got what they deserved. There’s no need to worship Mother Earth. The earth’s been here long before us, and it’ll be here long after we’re gone. It’s pagan, that’s what it is and even Pastor Wilson was upset about it. I don’t blame him. Those women are crazy . . . why it’s almost like invoking the devil, isn’t it?
They knew better than to invite me. I woulda’ told ‘em exactly what I thought. And even if they did invite me, I still woulda’ said, “No, forget it. I’m not nuts enough to do anything like that. I was safely tucked up in my bed that night. You won’t find me worshipping nature spirits or whatever the heck they were doing that night in the woods.
Let’s face it, I’m just not appreciated the way I should be. I’m a stylish woman, a regular exotic blossom stuck in this little village where everyone keeps getting’ murdered! Don't you agree?
Visit Connie at her website, at Facebook.com/ConnieArcherMysteries or Twitter @SnowflakeVT.