Read Online Dead Dancing Women by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli - Free Book Online

Harder this time.
    â€œHarry, you had to know her,” I said, keeping my voice very soft. “She disappeared a few weeks ago. It was in the papers and on TV.”
    â€œDon’t get the paper. Don’t got no TV.” His voice was gruff, sulky.
    â€œWell, anyway, you knew Ruby Poet.” Dolly was exasperated. She got up and stretched as tall as she could get. I got up, too, because it was hard to sit and be as nervous as I was feeling. “Everybody knew her. It was her head, though she had no business turning up in Emily’s garbage can.”
    â€œOh,” was all she managed to get out of him.
    â€œYou see anybody around Emily’s garbage can yesterday after the truck went by? You up by the road at all?”
    A very slow, thoughtful shake of Harry’s head.
    â€œStrange cars around? Somebody out walking?”
    Harry appeared to think hard again, as if he was really trying to help, then shook his head. “Seen nothing. Weren’t up to the road all day yesterday. Nope. Nowhere near the road. Not all day. I was busy here, in my house.”
    â€œGarbage day,” I said.
    â€œForgot to take my bag out,” he said.
    â€œI thought I saw you, or somebody, in your drive …”
    Harry whipped his head around to give me a long, hard look. I supposed I was breaking some kind of code of the woods, saying anything, bringing trouble to his door. I stopped and added feebly, “I’m probably wrong. A bird or something …”
    â€œLots a crows,” he agreed as he moved away from the stove to the open shelf and took down a quart Mason jar. He got himself a big metal ladle, went back to the stove, and began dipping the soup or stew or whatever into the jar in his hand. When the jar was full, he found a metal screw top and lid and set those in place. He screwed the jar shut as Dolly and I waited, at a loss for words, while he pulled a dishtowel from the table and carefully wiped the jar dry.
    â€œWhat are you making?” I motioned toward the pot, sensing we’d better prepare to leave or end up standing there all day staring at Harry’s silent back.
    â€œPossum stew,” he said, turning and holding the jar out to me. “I would a brought it over later.”
    I took it, reluctantly. “You get a possum this morning?”
    Harry nodded and gave a fleeting, crooked smile. “Yup.”
    â€œSo, you been out hunting?” Dolly drew herself up to full height.
    â€œNope. Don’t hunt outta season. It came to the door. They sometimes do that.” Harry shook his head emphatically but he still didn’t look either one of us in the eye. “Sometimes walk right up here and drop dead.”
    The jar in my hands was hot. I set one palm on top of the lid and slid the corner of my jacket under the bottom. I had to get out fast or I’d end up burned. I backed across the room, thanking Harry as I went. Dolly, though she wasn’t happy about learning nothing, followed me through the living room and out the screen door, Harry trailing along behind. The dogs, in back, began to bark again. I could imagine them straining at their leashes, teeth bared, mouths foaming.
    In the doorway, Dolly turned as if remembering something. “Oh,” she said over the barking. She gave Harry a big smile. “Just to warn you. There’ll be men out here searching the woods tomorrow. Don’t want you to be surprised if you see a lot of people wandering around.”
    Harry looked Dolly straight in the face. His eyes popped wide. “Searching for what?” he demanded.
    â€œFor the rest of Miz Poet, of course. Got to be more of her somewhere. These woods the logical place now.”
    Harry didn’t say another word. He wasn’t happy with the thought of men in his woods. In the spring Harry was busy, from the middle of May until late June, chasing mushroom hunters off his property. Now he was faced with the prospect of hordes