Read Online Rest In Pieces by Rita Mae Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rita Mae Brown
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his forefinger at Harry.
Harry knew he was right. She hurried over to Mrs. Hogendobber and, assisted by Blair, hoisted her up. She began to come around. Not knowing what another look at the grisly specimen might do, they remonstrated with her. She resisted but then walked down to Blair’s house supported by the two of them.
The police continued their work and discovered another hand, the fingertip pads also removed, and another leg, which, like its companion, had been cleaved where the thighbone joins the pelvis.
By noon, after sifting and digging for five hours, Rick called a halt to the proceedings.
“Want us to start in on these other graves?”
“As the ground is not disturbed I wish you wouldn’t.” Reverend Jones stepped in. “Let them rest in peace.”
Rick wiped his forehead. “Reverend, I can appreciate the sentiment but if we need to come back up here . . . well, you know.”
“I know, but you’re standing on my mother.” A hint of reproach crept into Herb’s resonant voice. He was more upset than he realized.
“I’m sorry.” Rick quickly moved. “Go back to work, Reverend. I’ll be in touch.”
“Who would do that?” Herbie pointed to the stinking evidence.
“Murder?” Cynthia Cooper opened her hands, palms up, “Seemingly average people commit murder. Happens every day.”
“No, who would cut up a human being like that?” The minister’s eyes were moist.
“I don’t know,” Rick replied. “But whoever did it took great pains to remove identifying evidence.”
After the good Reverend left, the four law enforcement officials walked a bit away from the smell and conferred among themselves. Where was the torso and where was the head?
They’d find out soon enough.
----
12
The starch in Tiffany Hayes’s apron rattled as she approached the table. Little Marilyn, swathed in a full-length purple silk robe, sat across from Fitz-Gilbert, dressed for work. The pale-pink shirt and the suspenders completed a carefully thought-out ensemble.
Tiffany put down the eggs, bacon, grits, and various jams. “Will that be all, Miz Hamilton?”
Little Marilyn critically appraised the presentation. “Roberta forgot a sprig of parsley on the eggs.”
Tiffany curtsied and repaired to the kitchen, where she informed Roberta of her heinous omission. At each meal there was some detail Little Marilyn found abrasive to her highly developed sense of decorum.
Hands on hips, Roberta replied to an appreciative Tiffany, “She can eat a pig’s blister.”
Back in the breakfast nook, husband and wife enjoyed a relaxing meal. The brief respite of sun was overtaken by clouds again.
“Isn’t this the strangest weather?” Little Marilyn sighed.
“The changing seasons are full of surprises. And so are you.” His voice dropped.
Little Marilyn smiled shyly. It had been her idea to attack her husband this morning during his shower. Those how-to-please sex books she devoured were paying off.
“Life is more exciting as a blond.” He swept his hand across his forelock. His hair was meticulously cut with short sideburns, close cropped on the sides and back of the head, and longer on the top. “You really like it, don’t you?”
“I do. And I like your suspenders too.” She leaned across the table and snapped one.
“Braces, dear. Suspenders are for old men.” He polished off his eggs. “Marilyn”—he paused—“would you love me if I weren’t, well, if I weren’t Andover-Princeton? A Hamilton? One of the Hamiltons?” He referred to his illustrious family, whose history in America reached back into the seventeenth century.
The Hamiltons, originally from England, first landed in the West Indies, where they amassed a fortune in sugar cane. A son, desirous of a larger theater for his talents, sailed to Philadelphia. From that ambitious sprig grew a long line of public servants, businessmen, and the occasional cad. Fitz-Gilbert’s branch of the family, the New York branch, suffered many
Harry knew he was right. She hurried over to Mrs. Hogendobber and, assisted by Blair, hoisted her up. She began to come around. Not knowing what another look at the grisly specimen might do, they remonstrated with her. She resisted but then walked down to Blair’s house supported by the two of them.
The police continued their work and discovered another hand, the fingertip pads also removed, and another leg, which, like its companion, had been cleaved where the thighbone joins the pelvis.
By noon, after sifting and digging for five hours, Rick called a halt to the proceedings.
“Want us to start in on these other graves?”
“As the ground is not disturbed I wish you wouldn’t.” Reverend Jones stepped in. “Let them rest in peace.”
Rick wiped his forehead. “Reverend, I can appreciate the sentiment but if we need to come back up here . . . well, you know.”
“I know, but you’re standing on my mother.” A hint of reproach crept into Herb’s resonant voice. He was more upset than he realized.
“I’m sorry.” Rick quickly moved. “Go back to work, Reverend. I’ll be in touch.”
“Who would do that?” Herbie pointed to the stinking evidence.
“Murder?” Cynthia Cooper opened her hands, palms up, “Seemingly average people commit murder. Happens every day.”
“No, who would cut up a human being like that?” The minister’s eyes were moist.
“I don’t know,” Rick replied. “But whoever did it took great pains to remove identifying evidence.”
After the good Reverend left, the four law enforcement officials walked a bit away from the smell and conferred among themselves. Where was the torso and where was the head?
They’d find out soon enough.
----
12
The starch in Tiffany Hayes’s apron rattled as she approached the table. Little Marilyn, swathed in a full-length purple silk robe, sat across from Fitz-Gilbert, dressed for work. The pale-pink shirt and the suspenders completed a carefully thought-out ensemble.
Tiffany put down the eggs, bacon, grits, and various jams. “Will that be all, Miz Hamilton?”
Little Marilyn critically appraised the presentation. “Roberta forgot a sprig of parsley on the eggs.”
Tiffany curtsied and repaired to the kitchen, where she informed Roberta of her heinous omission. At each meal there was some detail Little Marilyn found abrasive to her highly developed sense of decorum.
Hands on hips, Roberta replied to an appreciative Tiffany, “She can eat a pig’s blister.”
Back in the breakfast nook, husband and wife enjoyed a relaxing meal. The brief respite of sun was overtaken by clouds again.
“Isn’t this the strangest weather?” Little Marilyn sighed.
“The changing seasons are full of surprises. And so are you.” His voice dropped.
Little Marilyn smiled shyly. It had been her idea to attack her husband this morning during his shower. Those how-to-please sex books she devoured were paying off.
“Life is more exciting as a blond.” He swept his hand across his forelock. His hair was meticulously cut with short sideburns, close cropped on the sides and back of the head, and longer on the top. “You really like it, don’t you?”
“I do. And I like your suspenders too.” She leaned across the table and snapped one.
“Braces, dear. Suspenders are for old men.” He polished off his eggs. “Marilyn”—he paused—“would you love me if I weren’t, well, if I weren’t Andover-Princeton? A Hamilton? One of the Hamiltons?” He referred to his illustrious family, whose history in America reached back into the seventeenth century.
The Hamiltons, originally from England, first landed in the West Indies, where they amassed a fortune in sugar cane. A son, desirous of a larger theater for his talents, sailed to Philadelphia. From that ambitious sprig grew a long line of public servants, businessmen, and the occasional cad. Fitz-Gilbert’s branch of the family, the New York branch, suffered many
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