Read Online The PMS Outlaws: An Elizabeth MacPherson Novel by Sharyn McCrumb - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sharyn McCrumb
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the woodshed out behind it or anything?”
“Nope. Bought the house,” said Bill with a touch of modest pride.
“Bought … the … house,” murmured Edith, still staring.
Bill took his foot off the brake, allowing the car to inch forward toward the grand entrance, as Edith continued to stare, her lips moving soundlessly. “So—do you think she’ll like it?”
Edith nodded slowly. “If she’s human—which at times I do wonder about—she will.”
“Good. I brought my camera along. I thought we’d take a few pictures of the place. Maybe we could get some new business cards with a picture of the house on it. No, I guess we’d need a sign out front first.”
“I’ll call around,” murmured Edith, still staring at the white-columned mirage framed in the windshield.
“Well, maybe you could take my picture standing on the front steps. I could send one to Elizabeth. Cheer her up.”
Edith shook herself out of an architectural reverie. “Bill, this place must have cost you a fortune.”
“Well, we did the math with the mortgage people, and they seem to think we can manage. I’m selling some stock to make a pretty hefty down payment. Remember, we won’t have separate rents to pay any more. We’ll be living upstairs.” He smirked. “And the corporation was eager to find a buyer for the place. Tax reasons, I suppose. It was priced to sell. Besides, I drove a pretty hard bargain. Made them knock fifty K right off the price of the place.”
Edith’s jaw dropped. “Are you telling me that you got this place with a discount of fifty thousand dollars?”
“That’s right.”
Edith was silent for a moment, thinking how best to word her next question with skill and tact. After all, Bill MacPherson was her employer. He had many good qualities, but driving a hard bargain was not among them. Edith had seen Bill’s haggling skills in action when the firm hired her as its office manager and general dogsbody several years back. She had come in, fresh from the community college, asking for seven dollars an hour. After a few moments of salary negotiations with “hardhearted Bill,” Edith had ended up with eight. Her employer’s present claim to have saved fifty thousand dollars on the price of a mansion made her wonder if the place glowed in the dark from a radioactive waste site, or if it were being held together by teetering pyramids of termites. She could not even venture a guess. “Tell me,” she said at last.
T he Cherry Hill cafeteria was filled nearly to capacity. Elizabeth stood a few feet past the food line, holding her tray of meat, two veggies, and Jell-O, looking for a place to sit. She had been a little intimidated by the thought of her first meal in amental institution. Did people howl and throw food? On the way to the cafeteria, she had been greeted in the hall by a tiny, wizened woman who waved at her and said: “Praise the Lord, child. It makes the devil crazy.” Before Elizabeth could muster a response, the woman cackled happily to herself and wandered away. She wondered if this were a portent of encounters to come, and if so, did one ever learn to take such experiences in stride?
Elizabeth had considered eating alone in her room, but she thought that might be against the rules, and since she couldn’t be bothered to argue with bureaucrats in her present state of apathy, she decided to venture into the dining room and hope for the best.
The cafeteria seemed perfectly ordinary. People sat quietly at tables for six, eating and chatting and taking no notice of her whatsoever. A few patients stared off into space or muttered to themselves, and others had a ravaged look that seemed more in keeping with street people than campus residents, but on the whole the diners appeared rather ordinary. Elizabeth’s anxiety did not lessen with this observation; it merely changed focus. Now the place felt like junior high school, where everyone knew one another, and she was the new kid. Lunchtime
“Nope. Bought the house,” said Bill with a touch of modest pride.
“Bought … the … house,” murmured Edith, still staring.
Bill took his foot off the brake, allowing the car to inch forward toward the grand entrance, as Edith continued to stare, her lips moving soundlessly. “So—do you think she’ll like it?”
Edith nodded slowly. “If she’s human—which at times I do wonder about—she will.”
“Good. I brought my camera along. I thought we’d take a few pictures of the place. Maybe we could get some new business cards with a picture of the house on it. No, I guess we’d need a sign out front first.”
“I’ll call around,” murmured Edith, still staring at the white-columned mirage framed in the windshield.
“Well, maybe you could take my picture standing on the front steps. I could send one to Elizabeth. Cheer her up.”
Edith shook herself out of an architectural reverie. “Bill, this place must have cost you a fortune.”
“Well, we did the math with the mortgage people, and they seem to think we can manage. I’m selling some stock to make a pretty hefty down payment. Remember, we won’t have separate rents to pay any more. We’ll be living upstairs.” He smirked. “And the corporation was eager to find a buyer for the place. Tax reasons, I suppose. It was priced to sell. Besides, I drove a pretty hard bargain. Made them knock fifty K right off the price of the place.”
Edith’s jaw dropped. “Are you telling me that you got this place with a discount of fifty thousand dollars?”
“That’s right.”
Edith was silent for a moment, thinking how best to word her next question with skill and tact. After all, Bill MacPherson was her employer. He had many good qualities, but driving a hard bargain was not among them. Edith had seen Bill’s haggling skills in action when the firm hired her as its office manager and general dogsbody several years back. She had come in, fresh from the community college, asking for seven dollars an hour. After a few moments of salary negotiations with “hardhearted Bill,” Edith had ended up with eight. Her employer’s present claim to have saved fifty thousand dollars on the price of a mansion made her wonder if the place glowed in the dark from a radioactive waste site, or if it were being held together by teetering pyramids of termites. She could not even venture a guess. “Tell me,” she said at last.
T he Cherry Hill cafeteria was filled nearly to capacity. Elizabeth stood a few feet past the food line, holding her tray of meat, two veggies, and Jell-O, looking for a place to sit. She had been a little intimidated by the thought of her first meal in amental institution. Did people howl and throw food? On the way to the cafeteria, she had been greeted in the hall by a tiny, wizened woman who waved at her and said: “Praise the Lord, child. It makes the devil crazy.” Before Elizabeth could muster a response, the woman cackled happily to herself and wandered away. She wondered if this were a portent of encounters to come, and if so, did one ever learn to take such experiences in stride?
Elizabeth had considered eating alone in her room, but she thought that might be against the rules, and since she couldn’t be bothered to argue with bureaucrats in her present state of apathy, she decided to venture into the dining room and hope for the best.
The cafeteria seemed perfectly ordinary. People sat quietly at tables for six, eating and chatting and taking no notice of her whatsoever. A few patients stared off into space or muttered to themselves, and others had a ravaged look that seemed more in keeping with street people than campus residents, but on the whole the diners appeared rather ordinary. Elizabeth’s anxiety did not lessen with this observation; it merely changed focus. Now the place felt like junior high school, where everyone knew one another, and she was the new kid. Lunchtime
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