Death of an Irish Diva Read Online Free PDF Page B

she say that when Vera was so upset? She looked back at her daughter, who looked startled.
    â€œWhat if I did?” Vera sat up on the edge of her chair. “What if I killed her and don’t remember it? I mean, my purse was there. And we all know I despised the woman.”
    â€œVera! C’mon!” Beatrice said, setting her cup down. “That’s nonsense. You never hurt anything—not ever—when you sleepwalked before.”
    â€œYes, I can’t imagine,” Sheila agreed. “It’s ridiculous.”
    But Beatrice saw a faraway, almost haunted look in Vera’s eyes. It was exactly what she feared, and Vera would obsess about it and dwell on it, until something else caught her attention. Beatrice needed to change the subject. And fast.
    â€œDid I tell you that the Department of Historic Resources is coming to my place sometime this week?”
    â€œWhy?” Vera asked.
    â€œI told you about the contractor finding bones and maybe an old foundation in the backyard. We called the police, and they came by and looked, said if it was a crime site, it was too old for them to do anything about. They called the history folks in Richmond. The Department of Historic Resources. Who knows what they are going to find?”
    â€œVery exciting,” Jon said. “I love American history, and to have bit of it in the backyard? Extraordinary!”
    Beatrice loved this man. She looked at his dark eyes gleaming and didn’t know how it happened, given that she had always just been in love with one man, Ed, her whole life. Suddenly, there was Paris and Jon. And Jon tracking her down in Cumberland Creek. Life was surprising. You just never knew about the human heart and its capacity to love.
    â€œSo now, unfortunately, our pool construction has come to a standstill until they see if there really is any historical significance to it.”
    â€œI wonder what they will find,” Sheila said. “You ought to scrapbook it, Bea. Take pictures as they’re doing their thing. And then create a scrapbook about it.”
    Beatrice took a long sip of her tea as she looked over at the Scrapbook Queen. A long look was exchanged between them. Beatrice didn’t have to say a word. She lifted one eyebrow, and Sheila looked away.

Chapter 8
    As the week went by, Vera was pleased by the lack of incidents in her daily life. Everything appeared normal, with the same few dance classes, the same issues with Elizabeth, and she appeared to be sleeping the whole night. Just yesterday, she purchased an alarm system and made an appointment to see a doctor, just to be on the safe side. She had visited her mother and photographed the start of the archaeological dig occurring in the backyard of the home where she grew up. The exact spot where they found the human bones was where she had whiled away the hours, aboveground, swinging on a tire swing that hung from the majestic oak tree, listening to music, dreaming of dance routines.
    But that tree had been cut down years ago, leaving behind a huge stump and a gnarly root system.
    â€œHere it is,” Vera said, holding an old black-and-white snapshot of her younger self on the tire swing. “Here’s the old oak tree. And there I am on my swing.”
    â€œI remember that,” Sheila said. “And to think there was a dead person underneath.... Well . . . it makes me feel strange.”
    â€œI know, but if you think about it, we are probably walking around over dead people all the time,” Vera said. “The historian explained to Mama that they probably would never know who the bones belong to, even though they will take a DNA sample. They need something to compare it to. What are you working on, Annie?”
    â€œHere’s a picture from when my mom and dad were married, the first time. And here’s one from the wedding last month,” Annie said.
    â€œI love that you’re doing that,” DeeAnn said.
    â€œMaybe