Read Online A Teeny Bit of Trouble by Michael Lee West - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Lee West
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around mine. “Break your promise and I’ll take a contract out on you.”
Coop lowered his hands. “Teeny doesn’t break promises.”
“You should bronze her. When y’all finish eating, come get me.” She grabbed a burger and ran back outside with the dogs.
Red lifted the mustard jar. “Poor kid. She don’t know what’s coming.”
Coop walked to the door and shut it. “I can’t believe Barb killed herself. Maybe we should call the Sweeney police department.”
Red nodded. “Good idea, Boss.”
I handed Coop the phone book, then I left the room. I didn’t want to know the details of Barb’s death. I wanted to believe that she had regained consciousness and decided she’d teach everyone a lesson. Then maybe she’d driven to Sweeney and mixed pills with alcohol, an accidental death.
I put one hand on my stomach. I felt jittery inside, like I’d swallowed tadpoles. I forced myself to think of practical matters. Emerson was spending the night in an icky house. I had three bedrooms: one downstairs, and two on the second floor. I needed to dust, put clean sheets on the beds, and crank up the other air conditioners.
I ran up the stairs and pulled linen from the hall closet. I passed by the hall window and saw Emerson run across the backyard, her braids bouncing on her shoulders. I thought about pushing open the window and telling her about the birding hot spots. The orchard was home to the endangered red-cockaded woodpecker. She’d like that. But I couldn’t pull in a breath. My throat was no bigger than a saffron thread. Emerson thought her mama would come back to her. Tomorrow she would learn the truth from Lester. Until then, I could only offer soft words, a feather pillow, and a Happy Meal.
Gripping the sheets to my chest, I walked to the end of the hall, past Mama’s old art gallery. I stopped in front of a giant replica of The Last Supper. Mama’s Jesus bore a strong resemblance to Elvis Presley, with Colonel Parker and Joe Esposito as disciples. Scattered on the table in front of them was fried chicken, cheeseburgers, mashed potatoes, peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches.
I opened the door to Mama’s door and turned on the air conditioner. Musty air kicked up the plaid curtains. I’d only spent eight years with Ruby Ann. Most of that time had been unbearable for us both, yet her loss had been palpable, a living thing, like a benign tumor that grows just beneath the skin, hard and inoperable.
No, Teeny . Don’t think about that . Think about all the food you’ll cook . The peaches were ripe and juicy, brimming with sweetness, just begging to be made into a salsa. It’s an easy recipe. Peel and chop peaches. Add chopped red bell pepper, diced onion, minced garlic, and jalapeños. Chopped cilantro gives a fresh zing. Mix ingredients with oil and vinegar. A pinch of salt brings out the flavor. Serve with pork-and-pepper tacos.
Dust swirled up as I stripped Mama’s walnut bed. The filaments drifted past the wall mural that featured PG-rated sketches of the King. Emerson couldn’t sleep here. I hurried across the hall, into my old room. It was the same as ever. Twin beds with white ruffled pillow shams and log cabin quilts. Bookcases stuffed with cookbooks. Mama’s paintings hung on the walls, normal pictures of layer cakes and meringue-topped pies.
I made up the beds, then I ran down to the kitchen. Coop was still on the phone, but Red filled me in. “Nine thirty this morning, a maid found Barb’s body hanging from the shower rod. I don’t know the actual time of death. But we should hear something soon. The Sweeney coroner is fast-tracking the autopsy.”
“Why?” I sat down at the table and folded my hands.
Red shrugged. “Apparently the coroner has a golf game.”
Emerson burst into the kitchen. “Someone take me to McDonald’s right now or I’ll do something bad.”
I didn’t want the dogs roaming around the house until I’d scoured the rooms for toxic items. When you own
Coop lowered his hands. “Teeny doesn’t break promises.”
“You should bronze her. When y’all finish eating, come get me.” She grabbed a burger and ran back outside with the dogs.
Red lifted the mustard jar. “Poor kid. She don’t know what’s coming.”
Coop walked to the door and shut it. “I can’t believe Barb killed herself. Maybe we should call the Sweeney police department.”
Red nodded. “Good idea, Boss.”
I handed Coop the phone book, then I left the room. I didn’t want to know the details of Barb’s death. I wanted to believe that she had regained consciousness and decided she’d teach everyone a lesson. Then maybe she’d driven to Sweeney and mixed pills with alcohol, an accidental death.
I put one hand on my stomach. I felt jittery inside, like I’d swallowed tadpoles. I forced myself to think of practical matters. Emerson was spending the night in an icky house. I had three bedrooms: one downstairs, and two on the second floor. I needed to dust, put clean sheets on the beds, and crank up the other air conditioners.
I ran up the stairs and pulled linen from the hall closet. I passed by the hall window and saw Emerson run across the backyard, her braids bouncing on her shoulders. I thought about pushing open the window and telling her about the birding hot spots. The orchard was home to the endangered red-cockaded woodpecker. She’d like that. But I couldn’t pull in a breath. My throat was no bigger than a saffron thread. Emerson thought her mama would come back to her. Tomorrow she would learn the truth from Lester. Until then, I could only offer soft words, a feather pillow, and a Happy Meal.
Gripping the sheets to my chest, I walked to the end of the hall, past Mama’s old art gallery. I stopped in front of a giant replica of The Last Supper. Mama’s Jesus bore a strong resemblance to Elvis Presley, with Colonel Parker and Joe Esposito as disciples. Scattered on the table in front of them was fried chicken, cheeseburgers, mashed potatoes, peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches.
I opened the door to Mama’s door and turned on the air conditioner. Musty air kicked up the plaid curtains. I’d only spent eight years with Ruby Ann. Most of that time had been unbearable for us both, yet her loss had been palpable, a living thing, like a benign tumor that grows just beneath the skin, hard and inoperable.
No, Teeny . Don’t think about that . Think about all the food you’ll cook . The peaches were ripe and juicy, brimming with sweetness, just begging to be made into a salsa. It’s an easy recipe. Peel and chop peaches. Add chopped red bell pepper, diced onion, minced garlic, and jalapeños. Chopped cilantro gives a fresh zing. Mix ingredients with oil and vinegar. A pinch of salt brings out the flavor. Serve with pork-and-pepper tacos.
Dust swirled up as I stripped Mama’s walnut bed. The filaments drifted past the wall mural that featured PG-rated sketches of the King. Emerson couldn’t sleep here. I hurried across the hall, into my old room. It was the same as ever. Twin beds with white ruffled pillow shams and log cabin quilts. Bookcases stuffed with cookbooks. Mama’s paintings hung on the walls, normal pictures of layer cakes and meringue-topped pies.
I made up the beds, then I ran down to the kitchen. Coop was still on the phone, but Red filled me in. “Nine thirty this morning, a maid found Barb’s body hanging from the shower rod. I don’t know the actual time of death. But we should hear something soon. The Sweeney coroner is fast-tracking the autopsy.”
“Why?” I sat down at the table and folded my hands.
Red shrugged. “Apparently the coroner has a golf game.”
Emerson burst into the kitchen. “Someone take me to McDonald’s right now or I’ll do something bad.”
I didn’t want the dogs roaming around the house until I’d scoured the rooms for toxic items. When you own
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