Read Online Promises of Home by Jeff Abbott - Free Book Online Page A

the kitchen. I was left in front of all those images of Clevey, with a few of his other relatives sitting and not looking at me. Wanda Dickensheets, divested of her Elvis accoutrements, sat whispering with her mother, Ivalou Purcell. They were both big-boned ladies, with egos and personalities to match. Wanda’s a few years older than Ed and it’s starting to show, with widening thick gray streaks in her hair. Ivalou has a pennanent pinch on her face, like she’s got gas and she’s riding in a crowded elevator. They quit whispering and favored me with what I considered wholly inappropriate toothy grins that portended conversation. I quickly excused myself and retreated back to the porch.
    Davis had arrived, with Bradley in tow. Ed resumed his crying as I came back out on the porch and Davis gave him an awkward hug. Cayla Foradory, Davis’s wife, nodded curtly at me and went inside, balancing a casserole dish. She’s a quiet, rather unfriendly woman with fine blonde hair and a perpetual frown. What Davis sees in her I’ve never known.
    “Hey, Jordy!” Bradley called, and waved, running toward the house in a ragged gait. “Is Mark here?”
    “Bradley!” Davis snapped. “Lower your voice, please, sir. Remember what I said about minding your manners.” Bradley jerked like he was on a leash that’d just been yanked.
    “Minding my manners,” Bradley repeated in a far softer tone. I went over to Bradley and gave him a hug. He hugged back. “Sorry, buddy, Mark stayed at home. But I bet he’d be glad to see you if you want to come by tomorrow.” Bradley and Mark, only two weeks apart in birth,had grown up together. Mark, despite his sauciness toward his mother and me, had always been gentle with Bradley. Maybe he found Bradley impossible to stay mad at for long.
    Davis was accompanied by his cousin, who I was delighted to see. Eula Mae Quiff was not usually the first person you’d invite to a wake, but she was sure to liven it up. Eula Mae was our local celebrity, a prolific and successful romance writer, although she’d been agonizing over her latest torrid magnum opus. I hoped she wouldn’t start bitching about writer’s block; this wasn’t the place. Of course, Eula Mae considered the world her stage and Clevey’s death might just be a minor scene.
    Eula Mae made her rounds, embracing each of us. She was about twelve years older than we were and viewed us like errant little siblings. She saved my hug for last; considering how much free advice she dispenses my way, I suppose she considers me a special case.
    “Jordy. What a day you’ve had. First that no-good Trey Slocum back in town, and now poor Clevey dead.” She patted her mountain of reddish curls with a ring-heavy hand. Eula Mae should not be allowed near open bodies of water while wearing that much jewelry.
    “How’d you hear about Trey being back?” I asked.
    “That dreadful Gretchen creature called me. As though she and I were ever friends, especially after the hateful way she’s treated you. Anyhow”—she sniffed—“she said something about you needing your friends now, and she thought I’d like to know about what happened at the library with Trey.”
    Gretchen? Concerned about me? The world was getting weirder by the hour.
    “How are Mark and Arlene holding up? Have they seen him?” Eula Mae asked, taking a casserole dish from Davis, who was now having to comfort a once-again weepy Ed.
    “No, they haven’t, and I told him to mind his distance.”
    “Well, sweetie, I’m sure it’ll all work out. I really must get inside and see how poor Truda is. How’s she holding up?”
    “As well as can be expected, considering her son’s been murdered. Actually, I think Truda is an amazingly strong—”
    “Excuse me.” A distinguished-looking gentleman, tall and lanky with silvering brown hair, eased past the front door and came out onto the porch. I moved aside to let him pass and found myself slamming into Eula Mae’s casserole