Read Online Thyme of Death by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
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royalty
account. I’m talking about—”
At that tantalizing moment, before
Ruby and I could hear just what Roz was talking about, the open casement
slammed. The show was over.
“Wow,” Ruby breathed. “I’ve heard of
holdouts, but four million?”
“Maybe Jane is right,” I said. “Maybe
Roz is crazy.”
“Maybe she’s in love. There was
something about a man. And what was that stuff about royalties?”
We weren’t going to find out. A few
minutes later, we heard the cottage door bang. Jane Dorman stormed down the
path, her high heels crunching in the gravel. She looked like a woman who hadn’t
gotten what she came for.
CHAPTER 5
After lunch, Ruby went home to her
apartment to change for the memorial service, while I put the plates in the
sink and hunted up my one good basic black, a double-breasted cotton blend with
pleated shoulders and long sleeves. But as I pulled it over my head, it seemed
to me that black was all wrong. Jo wouldn’t have wanted black, especially on
such a beautiful day. So I dug in the closet and found a muted autumn green
wrapdress and added the gold pin Jo had given me last Christmas. I tucked a
sprig of rosemary behind the pin, for remembrance, and ran a brush through my
hair. Then I went to back my old blue Datsun hatchback out of the Emporium’s
garage, which I rent from Constance. My place doesn’t have a garage, and I don’t
like to park on the street and take up customer space. Ruby had decided against
black, too. She was wearing an off-white knit with a blue-green scarf and
belt. When she saw my green dress, she grinned and gave me thumbs-up. Then,
with self-conscious solemnity, remembering why we were all dressed up in
the middle of a Thursday, she settled herself in the passenger seat for a
silent ride to the park where Jo’s memorial service was being held.
Pecan Springs’ older businesses—the
Grande Cinema (recently restored by the Community Theater Guild), Winn’s
Variety, Hoffmeister’s Clothing Store, the hardware store, the Enterprise’s office,
the public library, and so on—are arranged in a square around the pink granite courthouse
that centers the old part of town. Four streets create the square. Crockett
(the street that the shop is on) dead-ends at the CTSU campus ten blocks north,
where there is another, smaller business area, mostly fast-food joints,
bookstores, copy shops, and boutiques. Robert E. Lee crosses the railroad track
and heads a mile east to the Interstate, where two sprawling malls have sprung
up in the last couple of years to house Walmart and Albertson’s and a
four-screen movie theater. LBJ Boulevard extends west past the post office and
the bank, where it turns into Ranch Road 1830 and takes off into the hills
toward Canyon Lake and the posh Lake Winds Resort Village. Anderson Avenue
runs south to the river, lined for four blocks with arching pecans and live
oaks and fine old Victorians behind wrought-iron fences. Arnold Seidensticker lives
on Anderson, in an immense white house with a two-story columned portico across
the front, as do most of Pecan Springs’ leading socialites. Anderson eventually
runs into Pecan Springs Park, where Jo’s memorial service was being held.
Until Jo started the anti-airport
campaign, Pecan Springs Park had been her major civic project. A few years ago,
she and some of her environmentalist friends infiltrated the Pecan Springs
Garden Club, a namby-pamby group whose most controversial project was planting
Japanese iris around the county courthouse. But Jo got herself elected
president and set about infusing the club with a sense of environmental
urgency. Her target was the Pecan River, where it flowed along the southern
edge of town. The river emerges from a small spring-fed lake, flows through the
CTSU campus, and eventually through a swampy patch of poverty weed and scrub
willows that used to border the old town dump. Jo armwrestled the City Council
for control of a strip of land on
account. I’m talking about—”
At that tantalizing moment, before
Ruby and I could hear just what Roz was talking about, the open casement
slammed. The show was over.
“Wow,” Ruby breathed. “I’ve heard of
holdouts, but four million?”
“Maybe Jane is right,” I said. “Maybe
Roz is crazy.”
“Maybe she’s in love. There was
something about a man. And what was that stuff about royalties?”
We weren’t going to find out. A few
minutes later, we heard the cottage door bang. Jane Dorman stormed down the
path, her high heels crunching in the gravel. She looked like a woman who hadn’t
gotten what she came for.
CHAPTER 5
After lunch, Ruby went home to her
apartment to change for the memorial service, while I put the plates in the
sink and hunted up my one good basic black, a double-breasted cotton blend with
pleated shoulders and long sleeves. But as I pulled it over my head, it seemed
to me that black was all wrong. Jo wouldn’t have wanted black, especially on
such a beautiful day. So I dug in the closet and found a muted autumn green
wrapdress and added the gold pin Jo had given me last Christmas. I tucked a
sprig of rosemary behind the pin, for remembrance, and ran a brush through my
hair. Then I went to back my old blue Datsun hatchback out of the Emporium’s
garage, which I rent from Constance. My place doesn’t have a garage, and I don’t
like to park on the street and take up customer space. Ruby had decided against
black, too. She was wearing an off-white knit with a blue-green scarf and
belt. When she saw my green dress, she grinned and gave me thumbs-up. Then,
with self-conscious solemnity, remembering why we were all dressed up in
the middle of a Thursday, she settled herself in the passenger seat for a
silent ride to the park where Jo’s memorial service was being held.
Pecan Springs’ older businesses—the
Grande Cinema (recently restored by the Community Theater Guild), Winn’s
Variety, Hoffmeister’s Clothing Store, the hardware store, the Enterprise’s office,
the public library, and so on—are arranged in a square around the pink granite courthouse
that centers the old part of town. Four streets create the square. Crockett
(the street that the shop is on) dead-ends at the CTSU campus ten blocks north,
where there is another, smaller business area, mostly fast-food joints,
bookstores, copy shops, and boutiques. Robert E. Lee crosses the railroad track
and heads a mile east to the Interstate, where two sprawling malls have sprung
up in the last couple of years to house Walmart and Albertson’s and a
four-screen movie theater. LBJ Boulevard extends west past the post office and
the bank, where it turns into Ranch Road 1830 and takes off into the hills
toward Canyon Lake and the posh Lake Winds Resort Village. Anderson Avenue
runs south to the river, lined for four blocks with arching pecans and live
oaks and fine old Victorians behind wrought-iron fences. Arnold Seidensticker lives
on Anderson, in an immense white house with a two-story columned portico across
the front, as do most of Pecan Springs’ leading socialites. Anderson eventually
runs into Pecan Springs Park, where Jo’s memorial service was being held.
Until Jo started the anti-airport
campaign, Pecan Springs Park had been her major civic project. A few years ago,
she and some of her environmentalist friends infiltrated the Pecan Springs
Garden Club, a namby-pamby group whose most controversial project was planting
Japanese iris around the county courthouse. But Jo got herself elected
president and set about infusing the club with a sense of environmental
urgency. Her target was the Pecan River, where it flowed along the southern
edge of town. The river emerges from a small spring-fed lake, flows through the
CTSU campus, and eventually through a swampy patch of poverty weed and scrub
willows that used to border the old town dump. Jo armwrestled the City Council
for control of a strip of land on
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