Did You Declare the Corpse? Read Online Free PDF Page A

so we’re going to eat here and hope they arrive before we’re done. The Gordons are driving down from the North Georgia mountains and should be here any minute. The Boyds are flying up from Savannah, but neglected to send me their arrival time. Why don’t you wait over there?” We wandered over to the far end of the lobby and claimed uncomfortable vinyl chairs, where we sat experiencing the deflated feeling of folks who have hurried for nothing.

    Joyce paced near the lobby doors for nearly an hour, looking as anxious as a first-time babysitter. Finally a cab pulled in and two people climbed out. “This looks like Mr. and Mrs. Boyd now,” she announced.

    I didn’t give her real high marks as a detective. The man climbing out wore plaid slacks with a dark green turtleneck and carried a bag labeled “Fragile—Bagpipes.” The woman carried a violin case in one hand and a plaid cape over her arm. And before the cabbie had even gotten out and started unloading a trunk full of bags, Laura had risen and moseyed over near the door, where she hovered in uncharacteristic uncertainty. I figured she was wondering whether to go out to greet Kenny or wait until he came inside.

    I hoped they didn’t plan to play their instruments on the bus, but didn’t want to think anything bad about them yet. That plaid Mrs. Boyd was carrying was the MacKenzie tartan, and my daddy’s mama was a MacKenzie. We might be kin.

    I revised that opinion as soon as she strode toward the door and left her husband to deal with the luggage. Women in my family carry our share of the load.

    We didn’t look anything alike, either. I am short with honey-brown hair, brown eyes, and the kind of figure Joe Riddley is sweet enough to call voluptuous. Sherry Boyd was taller than her husband and bypassed slender and thin to go straight for downright scrawny. She was also sallow-skinned, and had black hair and enormous eyes the color of semisweet chocolate. All the way across the lobby I could smell her musky perfume.

    Totally ignoring Laura, she honed in on Joyce. “We’re Kenny and Sherry Boyd,” she said in a flat, nasal voice. She stuck out a hand decorated with gold rings on several fingers.

    She could have been anything from thirty-five to forty-five, and was striking rather than pretty. She wore no makeup, was dressed in a black turtleneck and a long black skirt that touched her boots, and simply dragged her long straight hair back at her neck. Still, her plaid cape looked hand-loomed, her rings were certainly handmade, and her hair was pinned by an elaborate Celtic clip. I put her down as one of those arty people who don’t care how they look so long as what they wear is unique and expensive.

    “Was your plane late?” Having seen Joyce’s anxiety for the past hour, I marveled she could sound so calm and friendly.

    “No, we flew in last night,” Sherry told her. “We had some shopping to do today.”

    I watched in admiration as Joyce pressed her lips together and took deep breaths. I’ve heard that’s a good way to control your temper, but when I get mad, I always forget.

    Laura made up her mind—or got up her courage—to go outside. “Hey, Kenny,” she called.

    The man turned with a look I sometimes see in the eyes of people hauled into my court for the first time—folks trying to hide embarrassment behind bravado. Or maybe I imagined it. The next instant, he had her in a bear hug. Flushed, she pulled away and bent to help with his mountain of luggage. He started gathering up the rest.

    I eyed those bags and knew one thing: the Boyds had bought a whole set of new luggage for this trip. None of those cases had ever been slung in and out of baggage compartments. Kenny, however, looked like he might have been slung around a few times in life. His shoulders were slightly rounded, his face plump with heavy jowls. He was also short. Laura was nearly six feet, so he came approximately to her chin.

    “She wasn’t but fourteen when