Read Online The Dead Don't Dance by Charles Martin - Free Book Online Page B

here.” I gathered my papers and began packing up. “See you Tuesday. Check your syllabus, and read whatever is printed there. I have no idea because I didn’t write it.”
    My class beelined for the door, shooting glances at one another and whispering as they left.
    Funny. What had taken ten minutes before class now took less than thirty seconds. Maybe it was something I said.
    The only student to stop at my desk was Amanda Lovett. She rested her hand on the top of her tummy. “Professor, are you the one who’s been at the hospital the last week, sitting next to the coma patient on the third floor? The pretty woman, um . . . Miss Maggie?”
    When I first learned to drive, I always wondered what it would be like to throw the gear shift into reverse while driving down the highway at seventy miles an hour.
    â€œYes, I am.”
    Amanda chose her words carefully. Her eyes never left mine. “I work the night shift at Community as a CNA. I . . . I was working the day you two—I mean three—came in.” She fumbled with the zipper on her backpack. “I’m real sorry, Professor. I help to look after your wife. Change her bed linens, bathe her, stuff like that.” Amanda paused. “I hope you don’t mind, but when you’re not there, I talk to her. I figure, I would want someone to talk to me, if . . . if I was lying there.”
    I now knew how the emperor felt with no clothes.
    â€œProfessor?” Amanda asked, looking up through her glasses, her face just two feet from mine. I noticed the skin right below her eyes. It was soft, not wrinkled, and covered with small droplets of sweat. It startled me. I saw beauty there. “I’m real sorry about your son . . . and your wife.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder and left.
    I stood there. Naked. The only comfort I found was that she didn’t even realize she had done it. Her eyes had told me that.
    Going out the door, she stopped, turned around, and said, “Professor, if you want, I won’t talk to her any more. I should’ve asked. I just thought . . . ”
    â€œNo,” I interrupted, rummaging through my papers. “You talk to her . . . anytime. Please.”
    Amanda nodded. As she walked away, I noticed that the shirt she was wearing was one Maggie had tried on in the maternity store. I sat down at my desk, stared out the window, and felt absolutely nothing.

chapter seven
    F EW FOLKS KNOW THIS, BUT B RYCE M AC G REGOR IS probably the richest man in Digger. His dad invented a gadget, something to do with how railroad cars hook together, that made his whole family a bunch of money. I know that doesn’t sound like a gold mine, but Bryce said that every train that’s been produced in the last fifty years uses this contraption. I guess that would add up. Bryce gets a royalty check about once a week. Sometimes more than one.
    Three years ago I was in his trailer and saw a bunch of envelopes scattered about. One of them had been opened, and its contents lay on the floor. It was a check for twenty-seven thousand dollars. Bryce saw me looking at it and said,
    â€œTake it. You can have it. Most of ’em are like that. Some are more. Some less.” A few minutes later, Bryce passed out. One beer too many.
    I couldn’t find a pillow, so I wadded up a couple sweatshirts and propped up Bryce’s head. He was snoring pretty good and could have really used a bath, so I opened a few windows and didn’t bother to shut the door behind me. Nobody ever went up there anyway. The breeze would do him more good than harm.
    I don’t think Bryce ever remembered that night, but I did. There was more than a quarter of a million dollars on the floor in checks made out to him. I left that check, and all the other checks, right there on the floor. I didn’t want Bryce’s money, and the secret of his trust fund was safe with me. But I didn’t want him taken advantage of,