Read Online Regarding Anna by Florence Osmund - Free Book Online Page B

neutral, turned the steering wheel toward the curb, jumped out, and pushed it out of the lane of traffic. Then I locked the car and hoofed it to Minnie’s.
    She was standing in the doorway waiting for me—a scowl on her face, clenched fists resting on her hips.
    “Took you long enough. Where’s your car?”
    “It died a ways down the street.”
    “Where?”
    I told her which corner.
    “You’re just going to leave it there?”
    I wondered if she was going to invite me in or if we were going to have this conversation outside until one of us froze to death.
    “I can call my mechanic if I may use your phone.”
    “How soon can he get here?”
    What difference does it make? “I don’t know. It’s pretty early to call and—”
    “C’mon in. What do you want to do—freeze out here?”
    I wondered what her husband was like.
    Minnie left me standing in the foyer. I didn’t know if I should stay there, saunter in and sit down in the living room, or follow her into the kitchen. I could hear her talking on the phone.
    “Pat? Yeah, this is Minnie. There’s a tan and maroon Chevy broken down at Belle Plaine and Lawter. Might be a while before the mechanic can get here. Can you make sure it’s not towed?” She paused to listen to the response. “Okay, thanks. And Patty, if old lady Shuffleherbottom complains, tell her to stick it in her ear.” She paused again. “Whatever. Bye.”
    She approached me with an emotionless expression on her face.
    “Sit down, for Pete’s sake, and I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”
    “Minnie.”
    “Yes.”
    “I hate coffee.”
    Her glare was penetrating.
    “I’m just being really honest here.”
    “How about Scotch then?”
    “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” I knew as soon as the words left my lips that it was the wrong thing to say. “But then I’ve never tried it, so what the heck.”
    “Good, because I never drink alone.” She paused. “Who am I kidding? I always drink alone. I’ll pour you a small one. Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe you won’t. But you’ll never know until you’ve tried.”
    After she poured the drinks and handed me one, she sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and held up her glass. “To the truth then?”
    I held up my glass as well. “To the truth.”
    I took a sip and tried not to wince as it took a burning glide down my throat. How could anyone drink this stuff? But then it was barely seven A.M. Surely, that made a difference. Or maybe it was an acquired taste.
    “Talk,” she said.
    I wasn’t sure if I could. “Okay,” I stammered. “Here’s the short version. I have reason to believe my real mother was Anna Vargas, the woman who was killed in this house right before you bought it. I’m looking for answers, and you have some knowledge of what went on here. That’s all I ever wanted from you. I promise.”
    “Then why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”
    “I have a private investigator’s license, and I think I got carried away with assuming that role instead of being me—just a lonely girl searching for the truth.”
    “You don’t look so lonely to me.”
    “Minnie, my parents, the two people who raised me, died in our home from carbon monoxide poisoning when I was seventeen. I just spent Christmas and New Year’s by myself in an apartment not much bigger than your living room, and I’m living on a shoestring budget not knowing if I can make the next month’s rent.”
    She didn’t say anything for several seconds.
    “I’m not at all happy with the way you’ve conducted yourself. You ought to be ashamed.”
    “I am ashamed of the way I handled myself, and I apologize to you for that.”
    “Look, Gracie. I may not have gone to some fancy school like you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get to the bottom of things. So if you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, let’s get down to business. What makes you think Anna Vargas was your mother?”
    The only person who