Read Online Blanche on the Lam: A Blanche White Mystery by Barbara Neely - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Neely
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noticed it, too, but he had eyes only for the baseball cap he was squeezing to death between both hands.
Emmeline was reading through the four or five sheets of paper Archibald had given her. She ran her eyes down each page in a leisurely fashion, then picked it up and turned it facedown on the tray with slow, deliberate movements before going on to the next page. Every once in a while she coughed into the handkerchief she still held to her mouth. Warning shots, Blanche thought. The air in the room was as charged as a thunderstorm.
“It's a wise change, if I may say so.” Archibald cleared his throat. “All the other items, of course, remain the same.” Archibald moved a tad closer to his cousin. His eyes seemed to implore her not to infect him any more than she'd already done. “The bequests to the servants, the generous gift to the Daughters of the Confederacy...”
He petered out as the old lady continued to read, or at least pretended to read.
Grace was breathing through her mouth in short, quick bursts. Her hands were white-knuckled fists at her side. Everett lay his hand on the small of Grace's back for just a moment. She gave him a poor excuse for a smile, but Everett never took his eyes off Emmeline.
There was a light coating of sweat on Everett's forehead. And Blanche could almost feel Nate concentrating on the baseball cap in his hands. Did Emmeline's teasing Archibald account for all the tension bunched in the room? Blanche doubted it.
“Of course, I agree with you,” Archibald said, as though responding to something Emmeline had said. “Mumsfield's a fine lad, a clever boy...all things considered. But managing an estate as large as yours is a complicated business. Better to have older, more...er...ah...capable members of the family in charge of his affairs.” He smiled over at Everett and Grace.
“The firm is at your service,” he told them. “And, of course, I personally will be glad to—”
He was cut off by a hacking cough from Emmeline. He stepped back until his butt bumped against his briefcase on the table behind him. Emmeline snatched up the pen and signed the last page, coughing as she wrote. Blanche felt rather than heard a collective sigh from Grace and Everett. Archibald looked a littleshocked. Was it the old lady's quickness with the pen that surprised him?
He grabbed the will before Emmeline could cough on it again. He held it gingerly, as though it were one of those smallpox blankets the early settlers gave to the Indians. Blanche half expected him to whip out a pair of rubber gloves. He laid the last page on the table beside his briefcase and motioned Blanche and Nate closer. He handed the pen to Blanche and pointed to a line beneath Emmeline's signature. Blanche wished she'd said she couldn't write. But at least it didn't sound as though Mumsfield was being cut out of his money, only having it handled by his cousins. Blanche wrote her name in a round, girlish hand on the line next to Archibald's manicured pink-white finger. It occurred to her that just because Mumsfield's cousins were handling his money was no reason to assume his money was safe. Archibald took the pen from her and handed it to Nate. Nate leaned stiffly over the table and signed his name in shaky script.
“I'd like to stay and chat, Cousin, but I can see that you need your rest.” Archibald stuffed the pen and the will in his briefcase and moved quickly toward the door. Emmeline coughed again, as if to hurry him along. Everett followed him out of the room.
Grace dismissed Nate with a nod and a vague smile, and told Blanche that Everett would lock up. Nate followed Blanche down the back stairs.
“What do you make of all that?” Blanche asked him.
“I sure wisht I wasn't in it.” His eyes looked older than dirt. His shoulders drooped. “You ain't from round here, is you?” He gave Blanche a searching look that took in her hair, and her feet, and all in between. Including, she thought, some parts that
Emmeline was reading through the four or five sheets of paper Archibald had given her. She ran her eyes down each page in a leisurely fashion, then picked it up and turned it facedown on the tray with slow, deliberate movements before going on to the next page. Every once in a while she coughed into the handkerchief she still held to her mouth. Warning shots, Blanche thought. The air in the room was as charged as a thunderstorm.
“It's a wise change, if I may say so.” Archibald cleared his throat. “All the other items, of course, remain the same.” Archibald moved a tad closer to his cousin. His eyes seemed to implore her not to infect him any more than she'd already done. “The bequests to the servants, the generous gift to the Daughters of the Confederacy...”
He petered out as the old lady continued to read, or at least pretended to read.
Grace was breathing through her mouth in short, quick bursts. Her hands were white-knuckled fists at her side. Everett lay his hand on the small of Grace's back for just a moment. She gave him a poor excuse for a smile, but Everett never took his eyes off Emmeline.
There was a light coating of sweat on Everett's forehead. And Blanche could almost feel Nate concentrating on the baseball cap in his hands. Did Emmeline's teasing Archibald account for all the tension bunched in the room? Blanche doubted it.
“Of course, I agree with you,” Archibald said, as though responding to something Emmeline had said. “Mumsfield's a fine lad, a clever boy...all things considered. But managing an estate as large as yours is a complicated business. Better to have older, more...er...ah...capable members of the family in charge of his affairs.” He smiled over at Everett and Grace.
“The firm is at your service,” he told them. “And, of course, I personally will be glad to—”
He was cut off by a hacking cough from Emmeline. He stepped back until his butt bumped against his briefcase on the table behind him. Emmeline snatched up the pen and signed the last page, coughing as she wrote. Blanche felt rather than heard a collective sigh from Grace and Everett. Archibald looked a littleshocked. Was it the old lady's quickness with the pen that surprised him?
He grabbed the will before Emmeline could cough on it again. He held it gingerly, as though it were one of those smallpox blankets the early settlers gave to the Indians. Blanche half expected him to whip out a pair of rubber gloves. He laid the last page on the table beside his briefcase and motioned Blanche and Nate closer. He handed the pen to Blanche and pointed to a line beneath Emmeline's signature. Blanche wished she'd said she couldn't write. But at least it didn't sound as though Mumsfield was being cut out of his money, only having it handled by his cousins. Blanche wrote her name in a round, girlish hand on the line next to Archibald's manicured pink-white finger. It occurred to her that just because Mumsfield's cousins were handling his money was no reason to assume his money was safe. Archibald took the pen from her and handed it to Nate. Nate leaned stiffly over the table and signed his name in shaky script.
“I'd like to stay and chat, Cousin, but I can see that you need your rest.” Archibald stuffed the pen and the will in his briefcase and moved quickly toward the door. Emmeline coughed again, as if to hurry him along. Everett followed him out of the room.
Grace dismissed Nate with a nod and a vague smile, and told Blanche that Everett would lock up. Nate followed Blanche down the back stairs.
“What do you make of all that?” Blanche asked him.
“I sure wisht I wasn't in it.” His eyes looked older than dirt. His shoulders drooped. “You ain't from round here, is you?” He gave Blanche a searching look that took in her hair, and her feet, and all in between. Including, she thought, some parts that
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