Read Online Angel Condemned by Mary Stanton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Stanton
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Five
“So you can’t to go back to B. Mitchell’s again, that’s for sure,” Antonia said with a cheeky grin twenty minutes later.
Antonia lay flat on the couch in their living room. Bree sat in the rocker next to the fireplace, still in her winter coat, Sasha on the floor beside her, the food from B. Mitchell’s packed neatly up in a plastic bag. She’d come back to the town house and had been overwhelmed by the feeling of total dislocation.
Antonia sat up with a jerk. “She just slammed on out of there, Bree? After yelling all that out for everyone to hear? Without even a ‘bye-howdy’?”
“It’s not funny. And no, she didn’t slam out for another twenty agonizing minutes. I agreed to meet White tomorrow at the Frazier and talk to him about an out-of-court settlement.”
“Cissy’s going to pay up?”
“Looks like it.”
“Ugh. You’re right, sister. It’s awful. Poor Cissy. What are you going to do about it?”
Bree didn’t want to do anything about it. She was tired, close to exhausted. Worse, the town house had a strange, foreboding atmosphere. The twenty-year-old couch in front of the fireplace looked unfamiliar. Her grandmother’s sturdy rocking chair felt fragile. She was almost afraid to move in it. Maybe she hadn’t recovered from the car accident that had broken her leg as well as she thought she had.
“Bree? You’ve got to find some way to get this bozo out of Cissy’s life.”
Antonia was right.
Was it her imagination? Or were the walls and ceiling veiled with a dirty mist?
An unaccountable depression settled over her. She wanted to be back in the Angelus office, where the angels formed a barrier between her family and things like Beazley and Caldecott. The town house, home to her family for generations, was alien territory to her now. She turned and looked up at the mirror over the fireplace, afraid that she would catch a glimpse of something that shouldn’t be there.
She closed her eyes. She let her attention drift. The town house was at the end of a row of converted buildings that faced the Savannah River. Savannah had been the hub of the international cotton trade two hundred years ago, and the cobblestone embankments had carried warehouses, inns, and the offices of the shipyards. The buildings had survived pirates, slavers, the Civil War, and the Great Depression; Bree and Antonia’s home had been the headquarters for slave auctions, and Bree was always faintly surprised that her dreams weren’t troubled by the ghosts of the tormented victims. Maybe it was the echo of those poor souls that troubled her now.
She felt as if she were floating over the room, looking at it from a great height. She saw the narrow-planked pine floors. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that flanked the small brick fireplace. Double French doors that led to the small balcony that jutted out over River Street two stories below. In summertime, with the doors open to breezes from the river, the clangor from the street was a constant reminder that old Savannah was as vital as in her glory days. She’d known this place from birth.
Hadn’t she?
“Bree!”
Bree jerked awake.
“You all right?”
“Fine.” Bree stretched a little. Then she stood up. Sasha gazed up at her with anxious eyes.
“I think we should call Mamma,” Antonia said. “Maybe she can come on down and shake some sense into her.”
Bree bent to one side and laid her hand on Sasha’s head. Bad enough that Cissy had a peripheral involvement in this case. She wanted both Royal and Francesca safe in North Carolina. “Not a good idea.”
“What’s the matter with you? She’ll know how to handle Cissy. The wedding’s in four days, and she’s coming down for that. Why can’t she come a couple of days early?”
Bree didn’t say anything.
“Besides, you’ve got to tell both her and Daddy what happened today. Chambers called Prosper a thief, or as good as.”
“I can do that over the phone.”
“Better in
Five
“So you can’t to go back to B. Mitchell’s again, that’s for sure,” Antonia said with a cheeky grin twenty minutes later.
Antonia lay flat on the couch in their living room. Bree sat in the rocker next to the fireplace, still in her winter coat, Sasha on the floor beside her, the food from B. Mitchell’s packed neatly up in a plastic bag. She’d come back to the town house and had been overwhelmed by the feeling of total dislocation.
Antonia sat up with a jerk. “She just slammed on out of there, Bree? After yelling all that out for everyone to hear? Without even a ‘bye-howdy’?”
“It’s not funny. And no, she didn’t slam out for another twenty agonizing minutes. I agreed to meet White tomorrow at the Frazier and talk to him about an out-of-court settlement.”
“Cissy’s going to pay up?”
“Looks like it.”
“Ugh. You’re right, sister. It’s awful. Poor Cissy. What are you going to do about it?”
Bree didn’t want to do anything about it. She was tired, close to exhausted. Worse, the town house had a strange, foreboding atmosphere. The twenty-year-old couch in front of the fireplace looked unfamiliar. Her grandmother’s sturdy rocking chair felt fragile. She was almost afraid to move in it. Maybe she hadn’t recovered from the car accident that had broken her leg as well as she thought she had.
“Bree? You’ve got to find some way to get this bozo out of Cissy’s life.”
Antonia was right.
Was it her imagination? Or were the walls and ceiling veiled with a dirty mist?
An unaccountable depression settled over her. She wanted to be back in the Angelus office, where the angels formed a barrier between her family and things like Beazley and Caldecott. The town house, home to her family for generations, was alien territory to her now. She turned and looked up at the mirror over the fireplace, afraid that she would catch a glimpse of something that shouldn’t be there.
She closed her eyes. She let her attention drift. The town house was at the end of a row of converted buildings that faced the Savannah River. Savannah had been the hub of the international cotton trade two hundred years ago, and the cobblestone embankments had carried warehouses, inns, and the offices of the shipyards. The buildings had survived pirates, slavers, the Civil War, and the Great Depression; Bree and Antonia’s home had been the headquarters for slave auctions, and Bree was always faintly surprised that her dreams weren’t troubled by the ghosts of the tormented victims. Maybe it was the echo of those poor souls that troubled her now.
She felt as if she were floating over the room, looking at it from a great height. She saw the narrow-planked pine floors. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that flanked the small brick fireplace. Double French doors that led to the small balcony that jutted out over River Street two stories below. In summertime, with the doors open to breezes from the river, the clangor from the street was a constant reminder that old Savannah was as vital as in her glory days. She’d known this place from birth.
Hadn’t she?
“Bree!”
Bree jerked awake.
“You all right?”
“Fine.” Bree stretched a little. Then she stood up. Sasha gazed up at her with anxious eyes.
“I think we should call Mamma,” Antonia said. “Maybe she can come on down and shake some sense into her.”
Bree bent to one side and laid her hand on Sasha’s head. Bad enough that Cissy had a peripheral involvement in this case. She wanted both Royal and Francesca safe in North Carolina. “Not a good idea.”
“What’s the matter with you? She’ll know how to handle Cissy. The wedding’s in four days, and she’s coming down for that. Why can’t she come a couple of days early?”
Bree didn’t say anything.
“Besides, you’ve got to tell both her and Daddy what happened today. Chambers called Prosper a thief, or as good as.”
“I can do that over the phone.”
“Better in
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