Claire has that expensive condo and she looks like a million bucks.”
“Well, honey, it’s not our problem, thank God,” Fred said. “But I know you can’t help worrying about the girl.”
We were both silent, looking into the fire, when Fred suddenly said, “Damn!” and jumped so that he spilled part of his coffee.
I looked up, startled, and saw Mrs. Santa standing in our den door with the lights on her chest flashing merrily.
“Hey, y’all,” she said.
“Mary Alice, for God’s sake, can’t you knock? We could have been doing anything in here.” Fred mopped the coffee with his napkin.
“You wish.” Mary Alice threw her coat over a chair and came over to the fireplace. “That smells good,” she said, pointing to our plates. “What is it?”
“Sweet-and-sour shrimp. Almond chicken.” I handed Fred my napkin.
“You got any left?”
“In the kitchen.”
“I’m starving.” Mary Alice headed toward the food.
Fred glared at me and I shrugged. “How’d you get in, anyway?” he called.
“Through the back door. Which is better? The shrimp or chicken?”
“Shrimp,” I said.
“That woman’s got the nerve of a bad tooth,” Fred muttered.
I shrugged again. After forty years of living with Fred and Mary Alice’s clashing, it takes a lot to get me upset.
“Any more soy sauce?” she called.
“No,” Fred said.
“Look in the door of the refrigerator.” I took a sip of my coffee. “This is good,” I told Fred.
“Nobody keeps soy sauce in the refrigerator” came from the kitchen.
“Patricia Anne does.”
I drank my coffee and stretched my feet toward the fire.
“Here we go.” Mary Alice pulled a kitchen chair between the cushions Fred and I were on and sat down. “Y’all can’t be comfortable down there,” she said.
“We stay limber.” Fred reached over and touched his toesto prove the point. I tried to remember where the Ben-Gay was.
“Where’s Santa?” I asked.
“Poker night.” Mary Alice pointed her fork at her plate. “This is good.”
“Glad you like it.” Fred got up agilely (where was that Ben-Gay?) and announced he was going to go and watch the ball game.
“What ball game?” Sister asked.
“The Braves and Montreal.”
I sipped my coffee.
“My, my,” Mary Alice said. “Baseball season starts earlier and earlier each year, doesn’t it?” She watched Fred disappear down the hall. “He’s so smart-ass, Patricia Anne. I don’t know how you put up with him. You didn’t get egg rolls, did you?”
“We ate them.”
“You ate a whole egg roll?”
“Yep.”
“Will wonders never cease. Have they found Claire?”
“How did you know she was missing?”
“I saw Bonnie Blue at the mall.”
“I wonder how she knew.”
“Thurman told James and he told Bonnie Blue.”
“I wonder how Thurman knew.”
“Who knows?”
This was beginning to sound like an Abbott and Costello routine. I put my empty coffee cup on the hearth and told Mary Alice about my trip to the hospital and how Claire had either walked out or been abducted, that no one seemed to be very concerned. I also told her about Claire’s being Amos Bedsole’s granddaughter, Liliane Bedsole’s foster daughter, and that Liliane had come visiting this afternoon.
“Great. Claire probably has hospital insurance then,” Sister said.
“I’m sure she does. The question now seems to be whether she’s alive or not. You remember how she said‘They got to Mercy?’ and then she fainted? Wasn’t that what she said?”
“Exactly the words.”
“And if somebody killed Mercy and Claire knows who it was, they could have gotten to her, too.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know.” I looked into the fire as if expecting an answer there.
“I know something you don’t know,” Mary Alice said. “I know how Mercy was killed.”
“Digitalis,” I said. “It gave her a heart attack.”
“But I know how the murderer gave it to her. He deemosoed her.”
“What?”
Mary
“Well, honey, it’s not our problem, thank God,” Fred said. “But I know you can’t help worrying about the girl.”
We were both silent, looking into the fire, when Fred suddenly said, “Damn!” and jumped so that he spilled part of his coffee.
I looked up, startled, and saw Mrs. Santa standing in our den door with the lights on her chest flashing merrily.
“Hey, y’all,” she said.
“Mary Alice, for God’s sake, can’t you knock? We could have been doing anything in here.” Fred mopped the coffee with his napkin.
“You wish.” Mary Alice threw her coat over a chair and came over to the fireplace. “That smells good,” she said, pointing to our plates. “What is it?”
“Sweet-and-sour shrimp. Almond chicken.” I handed Fred my napkin.
“You got any left?”
“In the kitchen.”
“I’m starving.” Mary Alice headed toward the food.
Fred glared at me and I shrugged. “How’d you get in, anyway?” he called.
“Through the back door. Which is better? The shrimp or chicken?”
“Shrimp,” I said.
“That woman’s got the nerve of a bad tooth,” Fred muttered.
I shrugged again. After forty years of living with Fred and Mary Alice’s clashing, it takes a lot to get me upset.
“Any more soy sauce?” she called.
“No,” Fred said.
“Look in the door of the refrigerator.” I took a sip of my coffee. “This is good,” I told Fred.
“Nobody keeps soy sauce in the refrigerator” came from the kitchen.
“Patricia Anne does.”
I drank my coffee and stretched my feet toward the fire.
“Here we go.” Mary Alice pulled a kitchen chair between the cushions Fred and I were on and sat down. “Y’all can’t be comfortable down there,” she said.
“We stay limber.” Fred reached over and touched his toesto prove the point. I tried to remember where the Ben-Gay was.
“Where’s Santa?” I asked.
“Poker night.” Mary Alice pointed her fork at her plate. “This is good.”
“Glad you like it.” Fred got up agilely (where was that Ben-Gay?) and announced he was going to go and watch the ball game.
“What ball game?” Sister asked.
“The Braves and Montreal.”
I sipped my coffee.
“My, my,” Mary Alice said. “Baseball season starts earlier and earlier each year, doesn’t it?” She watched Fred disappear down the hall. “He’s so smart-ass, Patricia Anne. I don’t know how you put up with him. You didn’t get egg rolls, did you?”
“We ate them.”
“You ate a whole egg roll?”
“Yep.”
“Will wonders never cease. Have they found Claire?”
“How did you know she was missing?”
“I saw Bonnie Blue at the mall.”
“I wonder how she knew.”
“Thurman told James and he told Bonnie Blue.”
“I wonder how Thurman knew.”
“Who knows?”
This was beginning to sound like an Abbott and Costello routine. I put my empty coffee cup on the hearth and told Mary Alice about my trip to the hospital and how Claire had either walked out or been abducted, that no one seemed to be very concerned. I also told her about Claire’s being Amos Bedsole’s granddaughter, Liliane Bedsole’s foster daughter, and that Liliane had come visiting this afternoon.
“Great. Claire probably has hospital insurance then,” Sister said.
“I’m sure she does. The question now seems to be whether she’s alive or not. You remember how she said‘They got to Mercy?’ and then she fainted? Wasn’t that what she said?”
“Exactly the words.”
“And if somebody killed Mercy and Claire knows who it was, they could have gotten to her, too.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know.” I looked into the fire as if expecting an answer there.
“I know something you don’t know,” Mary Alice said. “I know how Mercy was killed.”
“Digitalis,” I said. “It gave her a heart attack.”
“But I know how the murderer gave it to her. He deemosoed her.”
“What?”
Mary
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