Read Online All's Well That Ends by Gillian Roberts - Free Book Online

I’d never say having all those people over and going out so much was improper and unseemly behavior.”
    Of course she was saying precisely that. She was apophasing—
    mentioning something by saying it wouldn’t be mentioned. I knew that thanks to Opal Codd. Sometimes her ridiculous words were actually useful.
    “You must understand,” Ramona said with great earnestness,
    “losing a husband and being on her own wasn’t exactly a new experience for her, the way it was for me, so maybe . . .”
    I let the idea of Phoebe’s suddenly-single-again expertise pass me by. Then I said, “About how many people would you say visited her in the past month?”
    Ramona slowly shook her head and looked thoughtful.
    “Men and women? Because women visited, too. Don’t mean to imply only men. Women friends. I’d see them arrive, all fixed up, and Phoebe would be in her finery—she really knew how to dress, although she gave up on wearing black real quick, at least in the daytime. I mean she wore black, but she wore it the way women dressing up always wear black, not as a widow. But when the women came, they’d go out together, mostly. On the town, you know?”
    “Any idea of how many?”
    “I couldn’t say. I’m not the type to spy on a neighbor or keep track. The houses are close together, but I’m not always where I would know if somebody came. But I’d say a person every day, just about. As far as I could tell. But I don’t know if there were repeats. Who is this person you’re looking for? An heir? Maybe if you described him or her, I could think back and remember something. I believe she had a son.”
    I sighed. “Do you know where Phoebe and her callers went when they left here? Women or men? Any special place or places?”
    “How would . . . ?” She shook her head. “I only meant they were all dressed up and I never saw her in church, so I assumed . . .
    51
    ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS
    I surely didn’t mean anything else. Probably just cheering her up.
    A widow needs her friends, I can tell you that, and I know from bitter experience. Trust me. The world of couples certainly forgets all about you.”
    I murmured sympathetically. “Would you consider yourself one of Mrs. Ennis’s friends, then?” I asked gently. “Did the two of you ever go out on the town?”
    She set her mouth in a tight, small circle and shook her head.
    “I tried. Tried to be a good neighbor. After all, I felt like somebody who could understand her trials, being in the same situation and all. I tried, and she was polite enough, but not close, do you understand what I’m saying?” She stubbed out the remnant of her cigarette. “Some might call her uppity, or a snob, too good for the rest of us here. All her talk about her ancestors and such, even though she admitted she wasn’t one thousand percent positive. If you aren’t, then why mention it, is what I wondered.
    Napoleon, did you ever hear such a thing? Her family was from Ireland! She told me that herself, so where would they come to Napoleon, even if her imagination wasn’t running wild? I was too polite to note the inconsistency there, mind you, and in any case, who really cares—besides her, I mean? I’m not a name-caller, mind you, and all that talk—who did it hurt, is what I say. She thinks of herself as something special, well . . . who does it hurt?”
    “When was this that she talked about her ancestors?” Ramona had said they didn’t go out together socially, and I couldn’t envision even Phoebe seeing this woman in the driveway and abruptly spouting her mishmosh of genealogical theories.
    “One time, a few months ago, her husband had passed and maybe she was lonely. But in any case, she invited me and two other neighbors in for tea. You know she didn’t live here that long before he died, so nobody really knew her, and I thought this was her effort to finally really move into the neighborhood, you know? I thought a cup of tea—” She flicked a finger against