Read Online An Anniversary to Die For by Valerie Wolzien - Free Book Online Page A

together. As it was, she went over to the refrigerator, pulled out the pitcher of tea, and refilled his glass. Then she left him to enjoy his lunch and went down into the basement to see if they had another bag of dog food. The last had vanished apparently overnight.
    While she was there, she decided to look in the freezer. Doug and Signe wouldn’t feel like cooking, and Susan was too tired to spend a lot of time at the stove. But she thought she had a large Tupperware of coq au vin. It would thaw as she napped, and she’d take it next door around dinnertime. After a few minutes of moving around a dozen pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream—there had been an excellent sale at the grocery—she found everything she was looking for. When she climbed back up the stairs, she had a bag of Science Diet hanging from one hand and a large plastic container of chicken in the other. Jed was no longer at the table, although he had left behind his dirty plate for her to remember him by. Susan looked around. The counters needed wiping. The dishwasher needed running. The tile floor was covered with dog and people prints.
    Susan was exhausted. Cleaning could wait. She dumped the dog food and the Tupperware on the kitchen table, called to Clue, and headed upstairs for a much-needed nap.
    Her last thought, as she drifted off to sleep, was that she should set an alarm: She didn’t want to sleep away the afternoon.
    Her first thought, when the phone woke her less than an hour later, was that she should have turned on the answering machine. She really needed more sleep. Since no one else seemed inclined to answer, she reached out and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
    “Mrs. Henshaw? It’s Signe. Signe Marks. Could I come over and talk to you?”
    “I . . . When?” Susan asked, struggling to wake up.
    “Now. Please, it’s important.”
    “I . . . Of course.”
    Signe hung up before Susan could say more. She stretched and put her head back down on the pillow. Where was Signe calling from? How long would it take her to get here? She was just beginning to drift back to sleep when the doorbell rang.
    Clue jumped off the bed and flew into action. By the time Susan made it downstairs, the dog had worked herself into a tizzy. Susan grabbed Clue’s collar and opened the door.
    A beautiful blond young woman stood on the welcome mat. She wore a white linen tunic over a short, straight, black linen skirt. Italian sandals displayed red-painted toenails—evidence of a recent pedicure. Her long hair was swept off her high forehead with a black-and-white polka-dot silk scarf. Twin gold-cuff bracelets were pushed up on her tanned arms, and black Gucci sunglasses covered her eyes. Her nose matched her toenails—probably because she was sobbing loudly.
    “Signe! Oh, my goodness, come in. What’s wrong?” The words escaped Susan’s mouth before she realized how stupid they were.
    “Oh, Mrs. Henshaw. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened.” Signe allowed Susan to lead her into the house. Over her shoulder, Susan saw a large truck with Fox News Television painted on its side pull up to the curb before the house next door.
    “Come on into the living room. I’ll get you some . . . some tea or something.” Susan led Signe to the couch and retrieved a box of Kleenex from a drawer in a nearby coffee table. “Here.”
    “Thanks. I’m sorry to be so . . . so soggy. It’s just that I’m so upset.”
    “Of course you are.”
    “I don’t know what to do,” Signe said.
    Susan thought for a moment. “Perhaps your minister . . . or priest . . . should be called to help out now.”
    “What could our minister do?” Signe sniffed.
    “Make arrangements for the funeral. Or do you think it’s too early to think about that?”
    “I . . .” Signe removed her sunglasses and stared at Susan. “Funeral? Oh, you’re talking about Mother. It’s not my mother I’m worried about now. It’s my father.”
    “Of course. He must be devastated,”