Read Online Now Let's Talk of Graves by Sarah Shankman - Free Book Online Page A

again.
    “Well, I reckon this whole sheebang has cost you a sou or two, hadn’t it, son?” Now Tench slapped Church on the back. He was one of those men who constantly touched, poked, prodded. “Little girl’s debut and on top of it being queen. Ain’t chicken feed, is it?”
    That was Church’s cue to laugh again, but instead, he looked away. Sam watched him stare at the mural of Jackson Square for a long count of five. His brow gnarled like a gathering storm. Then he blinked.
    “Church?” Kitty frowned at her brother.
    He shook his head and turned back with a big grin. “Think somebody just walked on my grave.” He shivered, hamming it up for the effect. “You ever have that feeling?”
    Sure, everyone nodded.
    “Well, listen.” Church rubbed his hands together. “We better get into the ballroom. Gonna miss my baby’s breakfast.” The man was used to getting the show on the road, Sam thought, a surgeon accustomed to giving orders. “Celebrate the last couple of hours of my baby’s being queen. Come on, y’all.” He hustled everyone out of their seats. “Let’s eat us some breakfast. Drink us some champagne. Make us some merry.” Now he was herding them out of the room. “Put it all on my tab,” he called to the waiter, who nodded. “All of it, Charlie. Nobody’s money is good here tonight. Nobody but Church Lee’s.”
    It was two-thirty when they piled out of the hotel into waiting limousines, waking drivers who had grabbed the chance for a little snooze.
    “Church!” Kitty called to her brother on the sidewalk. “You come on with me and Sam and Zoe. There’s room for you with us. Ma Elise went home a long time ago.”
    “Nawh.” He waved. “I left my car in the parking lot ’fore the parade. Here it is right now.” Church slurred, bobbing and weaving. The attendant stepped out of the old black Mercedes, palmed Church’s tip. “I’ll drive it on home.”
    “We can’t let him do it,” Sam said. “He’s way too drunk.”
    “He won’t listen,” said Zoe in the tired voice of one who’s given up trying.
    “Of course not,” said Sam. “You can’t reason with booze. But let me see what I can do. Since I’m not family, maybe he’ll let me drive.”
    She was out of the limo and halfway to Church’s car, running over in her mind what she was going to say to him, what she said to other drunks while doing Twelve Step work. She spoke his language, had been where he was more than once. With a lot of luck she might keep him from getting behind the wheel.
    But he was too fast for her. There was not even a prayer of grabbing the keys. Bang. Slam. The dark car lumbered out into the street and picked up speed. Its tires squealed as he turned right onto Canal.
    “Come on.” Kitty had rolled down her window. “We’ll follow him home.”
    Sam jumped in the front seat with the driver. “Do not lose that car.”
    “Yes, ma’am!” He accelerated, burning rubber.
    Then began a rerun of the drive from the airport the day before. There had been too many movies filmed in this town, Sam thought. Everybody was cruising for a bit part.
    “We have got to do something about Church’s drinking,” said Kitty. “He won’t say, but I know a friend of his, a member of the State Licensing Board, has spoken to him unofficially, warned him he’s risking a lot with his behavior. And his malpractice insurance—there’s been a suit—”
    Zoe stared out the window. Her reign as Queen of Comus was finally, finally over. And her daddy was drunk again. All that glitter and glory—and none of it was real. Well, maybe the diamonds around her neck were, she thought, fingering them. Nothing had changed. Here they were, rolling down old Canal Street. Next year another girl would sit on the reviewing stand at the Boston Club and watch the Comus parade pass by. Would her life change? Zoe stared out into the soft rain. The streetlights were ringed with yellow halos. She closed her eyes and could still see