Read Online All The Pretty Dead Girls by John Manning - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Manning
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was kind of hoping you’d be like a twin to her, but I can see her in your face—your eyes, you have the same eyes.”
Sue’s heart jumped. “You—you knew my mother?”
Joyce laughed. “Yes, I knew your mother. In fact, we were roommates here at Wilbourne. I was very, very fond of her. And I’ve been waiting for years to meet her daughter.” Her smile got bigger. “And you are so pretty. Are you as smart as your mother, too?”
“I don’t know how smart I am, or how smart she was, to be honest.” Sue replied, staring at the older woman.
No matter what Malika had said about Joyce Davenport, Sue was suddenly thrilled to be standing before her. She knew my mother! She was my mother’s roommate! Thoughts flashed through her head—here was someone, at last, with whom she could talk openly about her mother…to whom she could direct questions…from whom she could maybe get some answers…
“Well, you’re here at Wilbourne, aren’t you?” Joyce let out a hoot. “And they don’t take idiots here!” She smirked. “The occasional lefty moron, of course—you can’t get away from that in academia, of course, especially here in the Northeast—but I have no doubt you’re going to do just fine.”
Sue managed a smile.
Joyce reached into a worn Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. “Unfortunately, I can’t visit with you as long as I would like—I have to be in D.C. tonight, which means driving over to Albany and catching a flight, and I should be gone already—but I so wanted to meet you.”
“I don’t know much about my mother. I’d love to hear what you remember about her.”
Joyce had pulled out a book from her bag. She opened it to the title page and scrawled quickly on it with a pen. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to Sue. “A copy of my latest book, just for you. I wrote my cell phone number on there as well as my private e-mail address. I want you to call me night or day if you need anything, okay? Or e-mail me—I will always answer you. Anything for Mariclare’s little girl.”
“Did you know her long? And my fath—”
“Sweetie, I can’t talk now. I promise to be back up here soon to really get to know you better. Maybe in a few weeks. Then we can talk endlessly about Mariclare. My schedule is just so insane right now.” She slipped her bag over her shoulder. “But read the book in the meantime…and I’ll give you a call to set up dinner when I can get back up here.”
Sue tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Okay, move on out!” Joyce barked to her assistants, who suddenly came running into the room, scooping up boxes and suitcases. Joyce reached over to give Sue another hug. “So good to finally meet you, sweetheart.” Then she swept out of the room, leaving Sue standing there alone.
Sue glanced down at the cover of the book. There was Joyce, dressed pretty much the same as she had been tonight, with her hands on her hips. She was standing in front of a chalkboard, where the word SMEAR was written in green chalk. Across the bottom were the words How Liberals Have Perfected the Art of Libel.
In the upper left-hand corner inside a black balloon, it read, The latest from New York Times best-selling author Joyce Davenport!
She opened the book to the title page.
For Sue, I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Love, Joyce.
Her cell phone number and e-mail address, as promised, were written underneath the signature.
Sue walked out, holding the book, and headed across the campus. The auditorium had emptied out, and a cold wind had blown up. There was a full moon so there was plenty of light, but it seemed weird how fast the entire campus had emptied. There were no girls milling about now. Everyone was back in their dorm rooms, unpacking and preparing for the first day of classes, and anyone who wasn’t would be shooed inside. It seemed Sue’s grandparents weren’t the only ones to set curfews. Sue walked faster, rubbing her arms to
Sue’s heart jumped. “You—you knew my mother?”
Joyce laughed. “Yes, I knew your mother. In fact, we were roommates here at Wilbourne. I was very, very fond of her. And I’ve been waiting for years to meet her daughter.” Her smile got bigger. “And you are so pretty. Are you as smart as your mother, too?”
“I don’t know how smart I am, or how smart she was, to be honest.” Sue replied, staring at the older woman.
No matter what Malika had said about Joyce Davenport, Sue was suddenly thrilled to be standing before her. She knew my mother! She was my mother’s roommate! Thoughts flashed through her head—here was someone, at last, with whom she could talk openly about her mother…to whom she could direct questions…from whom she could maybe get some answers…
“Well, you’re here at Wilbourne, aren’t you?” Joyce let out a hoot. “And they don’t take idiots here!” She smirked. “The occasional lefty moron, of course—you can’t get away from that in academia, of course, especially here in the Northeast—but I have no doubt you’re going to do just fine.”
Sue managed a smile.
Joyce reached into a worn Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. “Unfortunately, I can’t visit with you as long as I would like—I have to be in D.C. tonight, which means driving over to Albany and catching a flight, and I should be gone already—but I so wanted to meet you.”
“I don’t know much about my mother. I’d love to hear what you remember about her.”
Joyce had pulled out a book from her bag. She opened it to the title page and scrawled quickly on it with a pen. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to Sue. “A copy of my latest book, just for you. I wrote my cell phone number on there as well as my private e-mail address. I want you to call me night or day if you need anything, okay? Or e-mail me—I will always answer you. Anything for Mariclare’s little girl.”
“Did you know her long? And my fath—”
“Sweetie, I can’t talk now. I promise to be back up here soon to really get to know you better. Maybe in a few weeks. Then we can talk endlessly about Mariclare. My schedule is just so insane right now.” She slipped her bag over her shoulder. “But read the book in the meantime…and I’ll give you a call to set up dinner when I can get back up here.”
Sue tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Okay, move on out!” Joyce barked to her assistants, who suddenly came running into the room, scooping up boxes and suitcases. Joyce reached over to give Sue another hug. “So good to finally meet you, sweetheart.” Then she swept out of the room, leaving Sue standing there alone.
Sue glanced down at the cover of the book. There was Joyce, dressed pretty much the same as she had been tonight, with her hands on her hips. She was standing in front of a chalkboard, where the word SMEAR was written in green chalk. Across the bottom were the words How Liberals Have Perfected the Art of Libel.
In the upper left-hand corner inside a black balloon, it read, The latest from New York Times best-selling author Joyce Davenport!
She opened the book to the title page.
For Sue, I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Love, Joyce.
Her cell phone number and e-mail address, as promised, were written underneath the signature.
Sue walked out, holding the book, and headed across the campus. The auditorium had emptied out, and a cold wind had blown up. There was a full moon so there was plenty of light, but it seemed weird how fast the entire campus had emptied. There were no girls milling about now. Everyone was back in their dorm rooms, unpacking and preparing for the first day of classes, and anyone who wasn’t would be shooed inside. It seemed Sue’s grandparents weren’t the only ones to set curfews. Sue walked faster, rubbing her arms to
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