Devil May Care by Elizabeth Peters Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Psychological, Romance, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Witches, Mystery Fiction, American Fiction, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Virginia
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collection of local stuff."
"What about the Mcgraths?"
"We don't need to look them up. Everybody knows the story. It's true, the bodies were found in the woods not far from the house. The country was a lot wilder in those days."
Ellie slowed the car to a discreet thirty. They had entered the outskirts of Millbury.
The town had been the county seat ever since there had been a county. Never large in population, it had passed through the usual pattern of growth and decay until, in the late nineteen sixties, the craze for antiques and handicrafts and quaint old towns hit Millbury as it had hit so many other communities.
The old tavern, the Silver Fox, was still the center of town; its sprawling roofs and gables covered a full city block. The owners had added bathrooms and a new dining room, but the old bedrooms with their fireplaces and sloping floors looked as they had looked in 1753 when the inn was opened. One row of old houses had been converted into smart shops and boutiques, and many others had signs that said
"Antiques"
or
"Katie's Krafts," or something of the sort.
The town was on the Washingtonbaltimorerichmond weekend circuit, and was popular with townies exhausted by paperwork, who wanted to get away from it all. But beneath the superficial veneer of new chic Millbury had not changed greatly; the old inhabitants still went to Joe's market instead of to the new A & P outside town. Joe charged and Joe delivered, and Joe still carried the diverse products he had carried for fifty years--caviar for the aristocracy, feed and sheep dip for the farmers.
Ellie had always loved Joe's--the worn bare boards of the floor, the poorly lighted corners, the seemingly disorganized piles of merchandise. Joe knew where everything was, but no one else did; you
86 Elizabeth Peters could lift up a pair of overalls and find a fifty-dollar tin of pate de foie gras underneath.
She hadn't seen Joe for several years, but he recognized her immediately. His casual nod made her feel as if she were still wearing her hair in ponytails (not pigtails). He had not changed at all. Perhaps there were only six strands of iron-gray hair laid carefully across his bald head, instead of ten; surely a few more wrinkles had been added to the weathered map of his long, dour face, but in all essentials he was the same.
Ellie was so delighted by the store and everything in it that it took her a while to realize that the atmosphere was peculiarly strained. She didn't recognize any of the other shoppers, so there was no reason why they should have spoken to her, and Joe had never been one for light chitchat. He started collecting cat food even before she handed him Marian's list. Donald, alert and unusually silent, had taken one of the worn kitchen chairs that stood in a circle around the potbellied stove--an item that indicated that Joe was not entirely immune to the curse of quaintness, for he had installed an adequate heating-and-cooling system years before. Ellie rummaged, finding unexpected treasures.
A jangle of bells announced the arrival of a new customer. Hearing the tapping of heels on the wooden floor, Ellie glanced up from the pile of old comic books she was investigating and saw Anne Grant bearing down on her.
"I saw Kate's car, so I figured you'd be here," the other woman greeted her. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Ellie said, bewildered.
Evidently Anne had not yet reached the Bloodymary-for-breakfast stage of alcoholism; her eyes were tired and a little bloodshot, but she was entirely sober and was dressed with the expensive casualness of her social class. The shining blond hair was tied back with a printed black-and-fuchsia scarf DEVIL-MAY-CARE 87
that matched her sleeveless, low-necked T-shirt and black pants. A leather bag was slung over her arm.
From it she extracted a list, which she tossed at Joe, who took it without comment; but Ellie noticed that he gave her a sharp look before he turned back to his shelves.
"Sit down," Anne
"What about the Mcgraths?"
"We don't need to look them up. Everybody knows the story. It's true, the bodies were found in the woods not far from the house. The country was a lot wilder in those days."
Ellie slowed the car to a discreet thirty. They had entered the outskirts of Millbury.
The town had been the county seat ever since there had been a county. Never large in population, it had passed through the usual pattern of growth and decay until, in the late nineteen sixties, the craze for antiques and handicrafts and quaint old towns hit Millbury as it had hit so many other communities.
The old tavern, the Silver Fox, was still the center of town; its sprawling roofs and gables covered a full city block. The owners had added bathrooms and a new dining room, but the old bedrooms with their fireplaces and sloping floors looked as they had looked in 1753 when the inn was opened. One row of old houses had been converted into smart shops and boutiques, and many others had signs that said
"Antiques"
or
"Katie's Krafts," or something of the sort.
The town was on the Washingtonbaltimorerichmond weekend circuit, and was popular with townies exhausted by paperwork, who wanted to get away from it all. But beneath the superficial veneer of new chic Millbury had not changed greatly; the old inhabitants still went to Joe's market instead of to the new A & P outside town. Joe charged and Joe delivered, and Joe still carried the diverse products he had carried for fifty years--caviar for the aristocracy, feed and sheep dip for the farmers.
Ellie had always loved Joe's--the worn bare boards of the floor, the poorly lighted corners, the seemingly disorganized piles of merchandise. Joe knew where everything was, but no one else did; you
86 Elizabeth Peters could lift up a pair of overalls and find a fifty-dollar tin of pate de foie gras underneath.
She hadn't seen Joe for several years, but he recognized her immediately. His casual nod made her feel as if she were still wearing her hair in ponytails (not pigtails). He had not changed at all. Perhaps there were only six strands of iron-gray hair laid carefully across his bald head, instead of ten; surely a few more wrinkles had been added to the weathered map of his long, dour face, but in all essentials he was the same.
Ellie was so delighted by the store and everything in it that it took her a while to realize that the atmosphere was peculiarly strained. She didn't recognize any of the other shoppers, so there was no reason why they should have spoken to her, and Joe had never been one for light chitchat. He started collecting cat food even before she handed him Marian's list. Donald, alert and unusually silent, had taken one of the worn kitchen chairs that stood in a circle around the potbellied stove--an item that indicated that Joe was not entirely immune to the curse of quaintness, for he had installed an adequate heating-and-cooling system years before. Ellie rummaged, finding unexpected treasures.
A jangle of bells announced the arrival of a new customer. Hearing the tapping of heels on the wooden floor, Ellie glanced up from the pile of old comic books she was investigating and saw Anne Grant bearing down on her.
"I saw Kate's car, so I figured you'd be here," the other woman greeted her. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Ellie said, bewildered.
Evidently Anne had not yet reached the Bloodymary-for-breakfast stage of alcoholism; her eyes were tired and a little bloodshot, but she was entirely sober and was dressed with the expensive casualness of her social class. The shining blond hair was tied back with a printed black-and-fuchsia scarf DEVIL-MAY-CARE 87
that matched her sleeveless, low-necked T-shirt and black pants. A leather bag was slung over her arm.
From it she extracted a list, which she tossed at Joe, who took it without comment; but Ellie noticed that he gave her a sharp look before he turned back to his shelves.
"Sit down," Anne
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