Charlaine Harris ~
taken up, she’d had a hard time. But now Sally was mending her fences locally, and was as plugged in to the Lawrenceton power system as she ever had been. If her stories being picked up by the wire services hadn’t gotten her out of the town, it had certainly added to her power in it.
I had always seen Sally very well dressed, in expen- sive suits and shoes that lasted her a very long time. When I reached her house, I saw Sally was a woman who put her money on her back, as the saying goes. She had a little place not quite as nice as Jane’s, in a neighborhood where the lawns weren’t kept as well. Her car, which hadn’t been washed in weeks, sat in dusty splendor uncovered by carport or garage. Get- ting in it would be like climbing in an oven. But the house itself was cool enough, no central air but several window air conditioners sending out an icy stream that almost froze the sweat on my forehead. Sally’s hair was as perfect as ever. It looked like it could be taken off and put on without one bronze curl being dislodged. But instead of her usual classic suits, Sally was wearing a pair of cutoffs and an old work shirt.
“Girl, it’s hot!” she exclaimed as she let me in. “I’m glad I don’t have to work today.”
“It’s a good day to stay inside,” I agreed, looking ~ 114 ~
~ A Bone to Pick ~
around me curiously. I’d never been in Sally’s house be- fore. It was obvious she didn’t give a damn about decor. The couch and armchairs were covered by throws that looked very unfortunate, and the cheap coffee table had rings on top. My resident manager’s eye told me that the whole place needed painting. But the bookcase was wonderfully stuffed with Sally’s favorite Organized Crime books, and the smell coming from the kitchen was delicious. My mouth watered.
Of course I was going to have to pay for my dinner with information, but it just might be worth it. “Boy, that smells good! When’s it going to be on the table?”
“I’m making the gravy now. Come on back and talk to me while I stir. Want a beer? I’ve got some ice cold.”
“Sure, I’ll take one. It’s the ‘ice cold’ that does it.” “Here, drink some ice water first for your thirst. Then sip the beer for your pleasure.”
I gulped down the glass of ice water and twisted the cap off the beer. Sally had put out one of those round plastic grippers without my even having to ask. I closed my eyes to appreciate the beer going down my throat. I don’t drink beer any other time of the year, but summer in the South is what beer was made for. Very cold beer. “Ooo,” I murmured blissfully. ~ 115 ~
~ Charlaine Harris ~
“I know. If I didn’t watch out, I could drink a whole sixpack while I cooked.”
“Can I set the table or anything?”
“No, I already got everything done, I think. Soon as this gravy is ready—whoa, let me look at the biscuits— yep, they’re nice and brown—we’ll be ready to eat. Did I get the butter out?”
I scanned the table, which at least was a few feet from the stove. Sally must have been burning up over there.
“It’s here,” I reassured her.
“Okay, here we go. Roast, biscuits, baked pota- toes, a salad, and for dessert”—Sally took off a cake cover with a flourish—“red velvet cake!” “Sally, you’re inspired. I haven’t had red velvet cake in ten years.”
“My mama’s recipe.”
“Those are always the best. You’re so smart.” A good southern compliment that could mean almost anything, but this time I meant it quite sincerely. I am not a person who often cooks whole meals for her- self. I know single people are supposed to cook full meals, lay the table, and act like they had company, really—but how many single people actually do it? Like Sally, when I cook a big meal, I want someone else to appreciate it and enjoy it.
~ 116 ~
~ A Bone to Pick ~
“So, what’s this about you and the man of the cloth?”
Closing in for the kill already. “Sally, you need to
taken up, she’d had a hard time. But now Sally was mending her fences locally, and was as plugged in to the Lawrenceton power system as she ever had been. If her stories being picked up by the wire services hadn’t gotten her out of the town, it had certainly added to her power in it.
I had always seen Sally very well dressed, in expen- sive suits and shoes that lasted her a very long time. When I reached her house, I saw Sally was a woman who put her money on her back, as the saying goes. She had a little place not quite as nice as Jane’s, in a neighborhood where the lawns weren’t kept as well. Her car, which hadn’t been washed in weeks, sat in dusty splendor uncovered by carport or garage. Get- ting in it would be like climbing in an oven. But the house itself was cool enough, no central air but several window air conditioners sending out an icy stream that almost froze the sweat on my forehead. Sally’s hair was as perfect as ever. It looked like it could be taken off and put on without one bronze curl being dislodged. But instead of her usual classic suits, Sally was wearing a pair of cutoffs and an old work shirt.
“Girl, it’s hot!” she exclaimed as she let me in. “I’m glad I don’t have to work today.”
“It’s a good day to stay inside,” I agreed, looking ~ 114 ~
~ A Bone to Pick ~
around me curiously. I’d never been in Sally’s house be- fore. It was obvious she didn’t give a damn about decor. The couch and armchairs were covered by throws that looked very unfortunate, and the cheap coffee table had rings on top. My resident manager’s eye told me that the whole place needed painting. But the bookcase was wonderfully stuffed with Sally’s favorite Organized Crime books, and the smell coming from the kitchen was delicious. My mouth watered.
Of course I was going to have to pay for my dinner with information, but it just might be worth it. “Boy, that smells good! When’s it going to be on the table?”
“I’m making the gravy now. Come on back and talk to me while I stir. Want a beer? I’ve got some ice cold.”
“Sure, I’ll take one. It’s the ‘ice cold’ that does it.” “Here, drink some ice water first for your thirst. Then sip the beer for your pleasure.”
I gulped down the glass of ice water and twisted the cap off the beer. Sally had put out one of those round plastic grippers without my even having to ask. I closed my eyes to appreciate the beer going down my throat. I don’t drink beer any other time of the year, but summer in the South is what beer was made for. Very cold beer. “Ooo,” I murmured blissfully. ~ 115 ~
~ Charlaine Harris ~
“I know. If I didn’t watch out, I could drink a whole sixpack while I cooked.”
“Can I set the table or anything?”
“No, I already got everything done, I think. Soon as this gravy is ready—whoa, let me look at the biscuits— yep, they’re nice and brown—we’ll be ready to eat. Did I get the butter out?”
I scanned the table, which at least was a few feet from the stove. Sally must have been burning up over there.
“It’s here,” I reassured her.
“Okay, here we go. Roast, biscuits, baked pota- toes, a salad, and for dessert”—Sally took off a cake cover with a flourish—“red velvet cake!” “Sally, you’re inspired. I haven’t had red velvet cake in ten years.”
“My mama’s recipe.”
“Those are always the best. You’re so smart.” A good southern compliment that could mean almost anything, but this time I meant it quite sincerely. I am not a person who often cooks whole meals for her- self. I know single people are supposed to cook full meals, lay the table, and act like they had company, really—but how many single people actually do it? Like Sally, when I cook a big meal, I want someone else to appreciate it and enjoy it.
~ 116 ~
~ A Bone to Pick ~
“So, what’s this about you and the man of the cloth?”
Closing in for the kill already. “Sally, you need to
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