Read Online Mad as Helen by Susan McBride - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan McBride
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God’s sake.”
Clara merely shrugged.
Mattie glanced wistfully at the counter where a brown bag awaited. “I just came in to pick up a sandwich and soup,” she told them.
“Oh, come on, Mattie, spit it out.” Clara wiggled her fingers, the nails painted the same vivid pink as her muumuu. “You must know something more than the rest of us. After all, you’ve got a front-row seat.”
“Best seat in the house.” Bertha chuckled.
Mattie shifted in her LifeStrides. “I’m not sure I know anything more than I told Bertha here this morning.”
Clara pouted rosebud lips. “You didn’t see anything else going on next door?”
“No.” Mattie pushed at the bridge of her horn-rimmed glasses. “I haven’t been outside as much as usual. This past week hasn’t been an easy one, you know.”
“Of course it hasn’t, sweetie.” Clara sidled down the bench so she could reach for Mattie’s hand. “You must still be shaken after the break-in at your place.”
Mattie tugged her hand away. “I am.”
Bertha wrinkled her brow. “The sheriff hasn’t caught the thief?”
“No,” Mattie said, looking grim. “Whoever it is, he’s still out there, waiting to strike again.”
“I thought it was some kids from Green Valley,” Clara remarked, “or that juvenile delinquent Charlie Bryan?”
Mattie sighed. “I’m giving up hope that Frank Biddle will ever find who did it. I’m sure I’ll never see my precious things again. For all I know, they’re behind the counter of some pawnshop in Alton,” she added, eyes misting.
“And then to have Grace murdered just next door.” Clara clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Do you truly think Helen’s granddaughter had anything to do with it?”
Bertha cocked her head and listened.
Mattie looked from one to the other. “All I’m sure of is that Miss Sweet was the only one I saw go into Grace’s house since I watched Grace leave in her car the night before.”
“No one else went in or out?”
“I didn’t notice anyone. I was having a beer on the porch after supper. But it was getting dark and my program was coming on the TV. That one with the dancing stars,” Mattie said as Clara and Bertha both nodded. “There hasn’t been much of interest going on at the Simpsons’ place since Max moved out.” Her wrinkled face softened. “He was such a sweet man, but she treated him so badly. Sometimes they shouted at each for hours so I had to wear earplugs to get any sleep.”
“She and Max weren’t legally divorced, were they?” Clara said and tapped a finger to her chin. “I wonder if he’s going to collect all the earnings from her sordid book. . . .”
“Let’s hope that book never sees the light of day!” Bertha’s cheeks turned bright red. “If Grace hadn’t threatened to divulge all those secrets, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“Amen to that,” Clara whispered.
But Mattie Oldbridge said nothing. She just looked longingly at the brown sack on the counter again.
Chapter 13
F RANK B IDDLE LET himself into Grace’s office with a key from the ring in her purse. Her handbag had been found in her car, and it had contained her billfold, a tube of lipstick, a compact, her cell phone, and a handful of Kleenex.
Before he touched a thing, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Then he groped at the wall for a light switch. The overhead lamp flickered on, and he looked around him, finding himself standing in a small waiting room. The walls were sparsely hung with framed prints of what looked like blobs of ink, like something someone’s kid might have done with black finger paint.
Chairs pressed tightly together lined the walls, with an occasional modern-looking glass table squeezed in between, its surface neatly covered with magazines.
Frank went through the door between the waiting room and inner office. He flipped on more overhead lights along the way. He first noticed a tiny kitchen set into a recessed spot in the wall. Or maybe
Clara merely shrugged.
Mattie glanced wistfully at the counter where a brown bag awaited. “I just came in to pick up a sandwich and soup,” she told them.
“Oh, come on, Mattie, spit it out.” Clara wiggled her fingers, the nails painted the same vivid pink as her muumuu. “You must know something more than the rest of us. After all, you’ve got a front-row seat.”
“Best seat in the house.” Bertha chuckled.
Mattie shifted in her LifeStrides. “I’m not sure I know anything more than I told Bertha here this morning.”
Clara pouted rosebud lips. “You didn’t see anything else going on next door?”
“No.” Mattie pushed at the bridge of her horn-rimmed glasses. “I haven’t been outside as much as usual. This past week hasn’t been an easy one, you know.”
“Of course it hasn’t, sweetie.” Clara sidled down the bench so she could reach for Mattie’s hand. “You must still be shaken after the break-in at your place.”
Mattie tugged her hand away. “I am.”
Bertha wrinkled her brow. “The sheriff hasn’t caught the thief?”
“No,” Mattie said, looking grim. “Whoever it is, he’s still out there, waiting to strike again.”
“I thought it was some kids from Green Valley,” Clara remarked, “or that juvenile delinquent Charlie Bryan?”
Mattie sighed. “I’m giving up hope that Frank Biddle will ever find who did it. I’m sure I’ll never see my precious things again. For all I know, they’re behind the counter of some pawnshop in Alton,” she added, eyes misting.
“And then to have Grace murdered just next door.” Clara clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Do you truly think Helen’s granddaughter had anything to do with it?”
Bertha cocked her head and listened.
Mattie looked from one to the other. “All I’m sure of is that Miss Sweet was the only one I saw go into Grace’s house since I watched Grace leave in her car the night before.”
“No one else went in or out?”
“I didn’t notice anyone. I was having a beer on the porch after supper. But it was getting dark and my program was coming on the TV. That one with the dancing stars,” Mattie said as Clara and Bertha both nodded. “There hasn’t been much of interest going on at the Simpsons’ place since Max moved out.” Her wrinkled face softened. “He was such a sweet man, but she treated him so badly. Sometimes they shouted at each for hours so I had to wear earplugs to get any sleep.”
“She and Max weren’t legally divorced, were they?” Clara said and tapped a finger to her chin. “I wonder if he’s going to collect all the earnings from her sordid book. . . .”
“Let’s hope that book never sees the light of day!” Bertha’s cheeks turned bright red. “If Grace hadn’t threatened to divulge all those secrets, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“Amen to that,” Clara whispered.
But Mattie Oldbridge said nothing. She just looked longingly at the brown sack on the counter again.
Chapter 13
F RANK B IDDLE LET himself into Grace’s office with a key from the ring in her purse. Her handbag had been found in her car, and it had contained her billfold, a tube of lipstick, a compact, her cell phone, and a handful of Kleenex.
Before he touched a thing, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Then he groped at the wall for a light switch. The overhead lamp flickered on, and he looked around him, finding himself standing in a small waiting room. The walls were sparsely hung with framed prints of what looked like blobs of ink, like something someone’s kid might have done with black finger paint.
Chairs pressed tightly together lined the walls, with an occasional modern-looking glass table squeezed in between, its surface neatly covered with magazines.
Frank went through the door between the waiting room and inner office. He flipped on more overhead lights along the way. He first noticed a tiny kitchen set into a recessed spot in the wall. Or maybe
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