Read Online A Dyeing Shame by Elizabeth Spann Craig - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Spann Craig
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getting up with Jack this morning, Myrtle.
A few minutes of extra sleep and a long shower have given me a new lease on life.”
Elaine gave Jack a squeeze before he trotted off to his room. “He even looks a little sleepy. I think he’s even ready for a morning nap! I’ll just grab Dirty Doggy …” she stopped at the stricken look on Myrtle’s face. “I won’t grab Dirty Doggy?”
“Thirty minutes on high heat should dry Dirty Doggy out,” Myrtle answered, apologetically. She hurried to the dryer.
T AMMY WAS BURIED on a scorching Sunday afternoon. Dogs, hoping for stray breezes, lay very still under oak trees. Heat rose in squiggly waves from the asphalt. Kids who’d played catch the flag and red rover now spent all their time drifting in large black, blazing-hot inner tubes on the warm lake water. Temperatures flirted with 100 degrees by eleven that morning. Tammy’s service was graveside and a fair-sized crowd had turned out. “They probably want proof she’s really dead,” hissed Myrtle to Elaine.
Law enforcement, represented by Red and what appeared to be several officers from the state police were also in attendance, hanging back and scrutinizing the mourners. They were probably hoping the murderer, overcome with remorse, would fling himself prostrate on the coffin, begging the victim for forgiveness. Or, at the very least, that they might spot a guilty face in the crowd.
Myrtle wondered where all the overcast Hollywood movie funerals were set. North Carolina services were fiendishly uncomfortable affairs featuring small graveside tents where the grieving family sat in shaded discomfort. Friends and lesser mourning relatives hovered in sweaty misery on the fringe of the oasis, hoping for a pastor with a succinct style.
Tammy’s shortage of close family changed the protocol. Kat sat in the front row with an uneasy Dina next to her. With no other family or close friends to offend, the other mourners claimed seats on a first-come-first-served basis as they arrived.
. Dina started crying before the service had even really started. Tammy’s ex-husband Bo, sitting behind Dina, leaned forward to pat her awkwardly on the back. Dina made a flustered attempt to ignore him, probably loyally remembering his alleged mistreatment of Tammy.
The preacher, whose pews Tammy hadn’t darkened for several years, performed a standard service. Those in attendance appeared remarkably unaffected with the exception of Dina and Bo, who were both crying: Dina with gulping sobs and Bo with loud sniffs accompanied by louder nose blowing. Bo reached forward and gave Dina a fresh tissue. She gratefully took it after a moment of hesitation.
Myrtle was just glad they’d finally made it to the funeral. Elaine and she’d arrived later than planned because Jack had picked their departure as an opportunity to knock over Red’s cologne, which spilled all over his front and then onto Elaine. She hurried to change them both, flinging clothes off and throwing them on the den floor as she ran. Then she’d packed a bag for Jack to have at the babysitter’s house. With a couple of M13s and some MRE, Jack could have fit in with, or possibly led, a survivalist group. For the most part, Myrtle had been able to stifle her sighs. Although Elaine drove to the funeral home at speeds that Myrtle found NASCAResque, they were the last to arrive at the funeral home and took up the rear of the procession. They stood in intense sunshine at the graveside.
Myrtle lost her balance while fanning herself with her program and stumbled. A hand grabbed her elbow and she looked up into Connor Walker’s concerned face. The perfect moment for a private chat. She acted especially feeble and Connor gently pulled Myrtle away to a stone bench located closer to the parked cars. Agnes glared helplessly at her from the crowd around the graveside. Probably contemplating faking a fit, too. Agnes clearly wasn’t pleased by the tête-à-tête.
Myrtle plopped on the
A few minutes of extra sleep and a long shower have given me a new lease on life.”
Elaine gave Jack a squeeze before he trotted off to his room. “He even looks a little sleepy. I think he’s even ready for a morning nap! I’ll just grab Dirty Doggy …” she stopped at the stricken look on Myrtle’s face. “I won’t grab Dirty Doggy?”
“Thirty minutes on high heat should dry Dirty Doggy out,” Myrtle answered, apologetically. She hurried to the dryer.
T AMMY WAS BURIED on a scorching Sunday afternoon. Dogs, hoping for stray breezes, lay very still under oak trees. Heat rose in squiggly waves from the asphalt. Kids who’d played catch the flag and red rover now spent all their time drifting in large black, blazing-hot inner tubes on the warm lake water. Temperatures flirted with 100 degrees by eleven that morning. Tammy’s service was graveside and a fair-sized crowd had turned out. “They probably want proof she’s really dead,” hissed Myrtle to Elaine.
Law enforcement, represented by Red and what appeared to be several officers from the state police were also in attendance, hanging back and scrutinizing the mourners. They were probably hoping the murderer, overcome with remorse, would fling himself prostrate on the coffin, begging the victim for forgiveness. Or, at the very least, that they might spot a guilty face in the crowd.
Myrtle wondered where all the overcast Hollywood movie funerals were set. North Carolina services were fiendishly uncomfortable affairs featuring small graveside tents where the grieving family sat in shaded discomfort. Friends and lesser mourning relatives hovered in sweaty misery on the fringe of the oasis, hoping for a pastor with a succinct style.
Tammy’s shortage of close family changed the protocol. Kat sat in the front row with an uneasy Dina next to her. With no other family or close friends to offend, the other mourners claimed seats on a first-come-first-served basis as they arrived.
. Dina started crying before the service had even really started. Tammy’s ex-husband Bo, sitting behind Dina, leaned forward to pat her awkwardly on the back. Dina made a flustered attempt to ignore him, probably loyally remembering his alleged mistreatment of Tammy.
The preacher, whose pews Tammy hadn’t darkened for several years, performed a standard service. Those in attendance appeared remarkably unaffected with the exception of Dina and Bo, who were both crying: Dina with gulping sobs and Bo with loud sniffs accompanied by louder nose blowing. Bo reached forward and gave Dina a fresh tissue. She gratefully took it after a moment of hesitation.
Myrtle was just glad they’d finally made it to the funeral. Elaine and she’d arrived later than planned because Jack had picked their departure as an opportunity to knock over Red’s cologne, which spilled all over his front and then onto Elaine. She hurried to change them both, flinging clothes off and throwing them on the den floor as she ran. Then she’d packed a bag for Jack to have at the babysitter’s house. With a couple of M13s and some MRE, Jack could have fit in with, or possibly led, a survivalist group. For the most part, Myrtle had been able to stifle her sighs. Although Elaine drove to the funeral home at speeds that Myrtle found NASCAResque, they were the last to arrive at the funeral home and took up the rear of the procession. They stood in intense sunshine at the graveside.
Myrtle lost her balance while fanning herself with her program and stumbled. A hand grabbed her elbow and she looked up into Connor Walker’s concerned face. The perfect moment for a private chat. She acted especially feeble and Connor gently pulled Myrtle away to a stone bench located closer to the parked cars. Agnes glared helplessly at her from the crowd around the graveside. Probably contemplating faking a fit, too. Agnes clearly wasn’t pleased by the tête-à-tête.
Myrtle plopped on the
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