D is for Deadbeat Read Online Free PDF Page B

lower jaw jutted forward aggressively, with protrusive cuspids on either side. She smelled virulently of lilies of the valley.
    Eugene indicated that I should have a seat, my choice being the couch where Essie sat, or a Windsor chair with one of the wooden spokes popped out. I opted for the chair, sitting forward slightly so as not to pop anything else. Eugene seated himself in a wicker rocker that creaked under his weight. He took up the narrow purple ribbon hanging out of the Bible and marked his place, then set the book on the table in front of him. Essie had said nothing, her gaze fixed on her lap.
    â€œMay I get you a glass of water?” he asked. “We don’t hold with caffeinated beverages, but I’d be happy to pour you some 7-Up, if you like.”
    â€œI’m fine, thanks,” I said. I was seriously alarmed. Being with devout Christians is like being with the very rich. One senses that there are rules at work, some strange etiquette that one might inadvertently breech. I tried to hold bland and harmless thoughts, hoping Iwouldn’t blurt out any four-letter words. How
could
John Daggett be related to these two?
    Eugene cleared his throat. “I was explaining to Essie this confusion we’re having over John Daggett’s whereabouts. Our understanding is that John is still incarcerated, but now you seem to have a different point of view.”
    â€œI’m as baffled as you are,” I said. I was thinking fast, wondering how much information I might elicit without giving anything away. As bugged as I was with Daggett, I still didn’t feel I should be indiscreet. Not only was there the issue of his being out on parole—there was Lovella. I didn’t want to be the one to spill the beans about this new bride of his to a woman he was apparently still married to. “Do you happen to have a picture of him?” I asked. “I suppose it’s possible the man I talked to was simply claiming to be your brother-in-law.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Eugene said, dubiously. “It surely sounded like him from what you described.”
    Essie reached over and picked up a color studio photograph in an ornate silver frame. “This was taken on our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary,” she said. Her voice had a nasal cast and a grudging undertone. She passed the photograph to her brother as though he’d never seen it before and might like to have a peek.
    â€œShortly before John left for San Luis,” Eugeneamended, passing the photo to me. His tone suggested John was off on a business trip.
    I studied the picture. It was Daggett all right, looking as self-conscious as someone in one of those booths where you dress up as a Confederate soldier or a Victorian gent. His collar looked too tight, his hair too slicked down with pomade. His face looked tight too, as if any minute he might cut and run. Essie was seated beside him, as placid as a blancmange. She was wearing what looked like a crepe de chine dress in lilac, with shoulder pads and glass buttons, a big orchid corsage pinned to her left shoulder.
    â€œLovely,” I murmured, feeling guilty and false. It was a terrible picture. She looked like a bulldog and John looked like he was suppressing a fart.
    I handed the picture to Essie again. “What sort of crime did he commit?”
    Essie inhaled audibly.
    â€œWe prefer not to speak of that,” Eugene interjected smoothly. “Perhaps you should tell us of your own acquaintance with him.”
    â€œWell, of course, I don’t know him well. I think I mentioned that on the phone. We have a mutual friend and he’s the one I was hoping to get in touch with. John mentioned that he had family in this area and I just took a chance. I’m assuming you haven’t spoken to him recently.”
    Essie shifted on the couch. “We stuck by him aslong as we could. The pastor said in his opinion we’d done enough. We don’t know