Read Online Widows' Watch by Nancy Herndon - Free Book Online

Emily Marks had been set, doubled and redoubled, on her four-no-trump bid, and a new round of bidding was in progress.
    T. Bob Tyler sat at the corner of the table between Lydia and Emily Marks, his eyes fixed on the classroom door.
    â€œMaybe Mr. Tyler could take a hand,” said Elena, anxious to get on with the interviews.
    â€œDon’t play nuthin’ but poker,” said T. Bob. “Bridge and suchlike are women’s games.”
    â€œFiddlesticks,” said Lydia Beeman. “I probably play a better hand of poker than you do, T. Bob.” She turned to her fellow players. “Since Portia’s got the bid at four hearts, you go in next, Emily.”
    â€œI’ve never been questioned by the police,” said Emily. “Should I have a lawyer?”
    â€œDon’t be a ninny,” snapped Lydia. “You haven’t done anything.”
    â€œYou want me to go along, Miz Emily?” asked T. Bob. “Don’t want you frightened by no lawmen, even if one is a woman.”
    Emily giggled. “You’re such a dear, T. Bob,” she said. “Almost as chivalrous as my George.”
    â€œDon’t reckon your George ever handled a six-gun,” rumbled T. Bob.
    â€œI hope you’re not packing one, Mr. Tyler,” said Elena. “If you are, it’s concealed, and that’s against the law.”
    â€œToo many folks got sissy ideas about guns these days,” said T. Bob glumly. “Ah sure am willin’ an’ able to go in an’ look after you, Miz Emily.”
    â€œWell, I—”
    â€œGet on in there, Emily,” said Lydia.
    â€œYou mustn’t let Lydia’s gruff ways mislead you,” said Emily once they’d arranged themselves in the desk chairs. “She’s a wonderful woman. My big sister.”
    â€œYou’re related?” asked Elena, surprised.
    â€œShe was the best friend of my real big sister who”—Emily looked as if she might cry—”who died several years back. Lydia’s been so good to me. She took me into the bridge group when she knew I wasn’t a very good player. Although I’ve improved. You wouldn’t believe it.”
    Elena didn’t believe it.
    â€œBetween Lydia and my dear husband, George, I never have a worry in the world.”
    â€œThat’s real nice,” said Leo. “What we wanted to ask you about was Dimitra Potemkin.”
    â€œOh, yes. I plan to take her a bowl of my cream of squash soup. That should—”
    â€œDo you think she liked her husband, Boris?” asked Leo. Having had to listen to the mum dissertation from Margaret Forrest, he was evidently determined to miss whatever Emily Marks had to say about squash soup. Elena cleared her throat to keep from giggling.
    Emily looked shocked and said, “I’m sure she did.”
    â€œShe never said anything unfavorable about him?”
    â€œWell, of course, but she didn’t mean it.”
    â€œWhat did she say about him yesterday?” asked Elena.
    â€œGoodness, I don’t remember. I have enough trouble remembering what’s been bid, and as for remembering what’s been played—”
    â€œTime, Mrs. Marks,” said Leo. “We need to know when Dimitra Potemkin was here at the center.” But Emily didn’t remember—that or much else of significance.
    â€œSenile?” Leo murmured to Elena when the lady had left.
    â€œJust a twit,” Elena replied and followed him out.
    â€œPortia’s free,” said Lydia. “I’m playing two hearts.”
    â€œMiz Lemay, she don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout murders,” said T. Bob Tyler. “She’s a maiden lady. In my ‘sperience maiden ladies is mighty squeamish ‘bout blood.”
    â€œWe don’t think she killed anyone,” said Elena, who was getting tired of the old rancher’s interference.
    Portia Lemay patted T. Bob Tyler on the