Read Online Sing It to Her Bones by Marcia Talley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marcia Talley
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claimed was a hard-earned lunch. Angie returned to the kitchen, and Ellie busied herself with the UPS delivery truck. Connie and I sat on the wooden crates and balanced our paper plates on our knees. “Gawd, these are good!” Connie mumbled through a mouthful of succulent backfin crab lumps.She offered me some of her fries, but she had ruined them with catsup, and I told her so.
“Picky, picky.” She waggled one under my nose, just to taunt me.
I had finished my sandwich and was standing at the cooler, selecting a fruit drink for Connie, when the screen door slammed and a familiar voice boomed out, “Hey, hey!” Dennis. He made a beeline for Connie. “I knew I’d find you here.” He gestured toward the front porch. “That decrepit heap you’re driving is a dead giveaway. I should give you a ticket just on general principles.”
Connie popped a french fry, loaded with catsup, into her mouth. “I had to put my boxes in something, Dennis. What brings you here?”
“I’m dying of thirst.” He joined me at the cooler, where he picked out a bottle of cranberry juice, twisted off the cap, and finished it in three long gulps. I simply stared.
Dennis put the empty bottle down on the counter and fumbled in his pocket until he found three quarters, which he laid on top of the cash register. He pulled up a crate and sat down next to Connie, his arms resting on his knees. “I’ve just come from the Dunbars.” He looked up at me. “I had the unhappy task of telling them that the body you found has been positively identified as Katherine Louise Dunbar and that she had been murdered.”
From the kitchen came a long, high-pitched wail and the clang of something metallic hitting the floor and rolling, rolling, rolling.
chapter
6
It was a Marx Brothers movie.
Dennis, Connie, and I reached the kitchen door simultaneously, a confusion of legs, colliding shoulders, and bumped elbows. Dennis straight-armed the kitchen door, but it moved only a few inches, stopping with a hollow thud against some inert object on the other side. When we finally squeezed through, it turned out to be Bill’s broad behind as he stood with his arms around the sobbing Angie, comforting her in the narrow space between the door and a stainless steel counter strewn with chopped vegetables. Angie rocked back and forth, moaning, using a soiled dish towel as a handkerchief, pressed hard against her eyes and completely covering her face.
Bill moved to one side so that Ellie could sidle by and join her daughter. Ellie fussed and cooed whileescorting Angie to a folding wooden chair just to the left of the door. Angie sat down heavily beneath a wall-mounted telephone near the spot where a copy of the menu, sheathed in plastic, was tacked to the wall. While Connie and I hung back, leaning against a sink, I could hear Dennis’s voice, deep and reassuring, talking to Angie, arranging an appointment for an interview later in the day. Angie nodded mutely while dabbing at her swollen eyes with the crumpled towel.
“I feel like an intruder here,” Connie whispered. “The worst kind of eavesdropper.”
I, on the other hand, was inclined to stay, even though I could feel that water from the edge of the sink I was leaning against had soaked through the back of my slacks.
Connie tugged at my sleeve. “There’s nothing we can do here. Let’s sneak out the back.” She pointed to a screen door near the french fry cooker. I followed reluctantly, but as we reached the door, I hung back, gazing across the kitchen at the sad tableau: Angie seated, still sobbing; Ellie leaning solicitously over her, rubbing her back; Dennis squatting in front of the two, forearms resting on his thighs; and Bill, looking helpless, wiping the stainless steel counter over and over, even though it was by now thoroughly clean. As far as they were concerned, we were no longer there.
We drove to the farm, sitting in silence most of the way. I thought about all the problems of my own
“Picky, picky.” She waggled one under my nose, just to taunt me.
I had finished my sandwich and was standing at the cooler, selecting a fruit drink for Connie, when the screen door slammed and a familiar voice boomed out, “Hey, hey!” Dennis. He made a beeline for Connie. “I knew I’d find you here.” He gestured toward the front porch. “That decrepit heap you’re driving is a dead giveaway. I should give you a ticket just on general principles.”
Connie popped a french fry, loaded with catsup, into her mouth. “I had to put my boxes in something, Dennis. What brings you here?”
“I’m dying of thirst.” He joined me at the cooler, where he picked out a bottle of cranberry juice, twisted off the cap, and finished it in three long gulps. I simply stared.
Dennis put the empty bottle down on the counter and fumbled in his pocket until he found three quarters, which he laid on top of the cash register. He pulled up a crate and sat down next to Connie, his arms resting on his knees. “I’ve just come from the Dunbars.” He looked up at me. “I had the unhappy task of telling them that the body you found has been positively identified as Katherine Louise Dunbar and that she had been murdered.”
From the kitchen came a long, high-pitched wail and the clang of something metallic hitting the floor and rolling, rolling, rolling.
chapter
6
It was a Marx Brothers movie.
Dennis, Connie, and I reached the kitchen door simultaneously, a confusion of legs, colliding shoulders, and bumped elbows. Dennis straight-armed the kitchen door, but it moved only a few inches, stopping with a hollow thud against some inert object on the other side. When we finally squeezed through, it turned out to be Bill’s broad behind as he stood with his arms around the sobbing Angie, comforting her in the narrow space between the door and a stainless steel counter strewn with chopped vegetables. Angie rocked back and forth, moaning, using a soiled dish towel as a handkerchief, pressed hard against her eyes and completely covering her face.
Bill moved to one side so that Ellie could sidle by and join her daughter. Ellie fussed and cooed whileescorting Angie to a folding wooden chair just to the left of the door. Angie sat down heavily beneath a wall-mounted telephone near the spot where a copy of the menu, sheathed in plastic, was tacked to the wall. While Connie and I hung back, leaning against a sink, I could hear Dennis’s voice, deep and reassuring, talking to Angie, arranging an appointment for an interview later in the day. Angie nodded mutely while dabbing at her swollen eyes with the crumpled towel.
“I feel like an intruder here,” Connie whispered. “The worst kind of eavesdropper.”
I, on the other hand, was inclined to stay, even though I could feel that water from the edge of the sink I was leaning against had soaked through the back of my slacks.
Connie tugged at my sleeve. “There’s nothing we can do here. Let’s sneak out the back.” She pointed to a screen door near the french fry cooker. I followed reluctantly, but as we reached the door, I hung back, gazing across the kitchen at the sad tableau: Angie seated, still sobbing; Ellie leaning solicitously over her, rubbing her back; Dennis squatting in front of the two, forearms resting on his thighs; and Bill, looking helpless, wiping the stainless steel counter over and over, even though it was by now thoroughly clean. As far as they were concerned, we were no longer there.
We drove to the farm, sitting in silence most of the way. I thought about all the problems of my own
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