Read Online Cemetery Silk by E. Joan Sims - Free Book Online Page A

Mother was right: writing the book was much better. We could get our revenge and maybe make some money at the same time. I was sure I wouldn’t make three million dollars but I would have my career back, and that was worth more to me than money.
    I pulled the pretty afghan that Abigail had knitted for Mother last Christmas up to my shoulders and snuggled down in the softness of the sofa cushions. I slowly drifted off to a fitful but adventurous dream starring Sam Spade and Nick and Nora Charles. I awoke feeling terribly lonely because I had no cute little doggie like Nora’s Asta, or husband like her Nick. Rafe was in there somewhere hovering in the background, faceless, as in all my dreams.
    I awoke feeling slightly groggy and stumbled into the bathroom where I washed my face, combed my hair, and paused to examine myself in the mirror. My cheeks were glowing and my eyes were not the usual humdrum hazel but a nice mysterious shade of green. Yes, this life was definitely agreeing with me. Ritzy Fifth Avenue with all its smut, grime and pollution couldn’t hold a candle to the invigorating early autumn air on the farm. Although, in another week or two I was going to run screaming into the night if I did not find someone who could give me a decent haircut. Also, I really had to do something to my nails. Meanwhile I settled for that timeless beauty aid, a big rubber band, and pulled my messy auburn curls back into a ponytail.

Chapter Six
    When I entered the kitchen I saw Cassie “ohhing” and “ahhing” at something in the oven with Mother beaming proudly at her side. For once she had impressed her granddaughter. I decided to wait for the surprise and was about to start setting the kitchen table when Mother stopped me.
    â€œPaisley, we’re celebrating tonight. The table is already set in the dining room.”
    â€œMom! Wait until you see what Gran has made. You will not believe it!”
    â€œWhat’s the celebration, Mother?”
    â€œThe beginning of our first big adventure as private investigators, that’s what!”
    I started to hoot, but talk about sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks! Mother was a firecracker about to go off. Besides, the dinner smelled wonderful, and the dining room looked beautiful. All the sparkling and glowing surfaces shone from the work Cassie and I had done.
    Mother had set the table with heavy linen place mats and her autumn china, old Josiah Wedgwood’s Bianca. A big straw basket with fresh flowers sat at one end of the long table and we three sat cozily at the other end and ate by candlelight.
    It was our most companionable meal so far. Cassie and Mother laughed and smiled often at each other’s jokes. A lovely Pouilly Fuisse sparkled in the Waterford goblets and the silver cutlery gleamed in the candlelight. As politely as possible, we dispatched a delicate pastry filled with wild mushrooms, pecans, and the thinnest slivers of tender, roasted, breast of quail.
    Cassie and I had eaten so many meals wrapped in paper or served in polystyrene during the last few years that I had almost forgotten how nice it was to eat like a civilized person. I loved the weight of the silver knife in my hand and the big oversized damask napkin on my lap. I felt like one of the landed gentry, to the manor born.
    â€œBoy, if I had known about the feedbag you were going to put on, I would have suggested that we dress for dinner,” I offered irreverently.
    â€œIt really is a shame that we don’t do this more often,” seconded my daughter. “Let’s do this at least once a week while we’re here. I’ll help Gran cook,” she added.
    Lots of raised eyebrows there but Cassie missed it because she had hopped up to clear the plates and make way for the grand finale.
    Mother had created little individual baked meringue boxes filled with raspberry sorbeija. Each one was topped off with a scattering of fresh raspberries and a rich chocolate