Grave Concern Read Online Free PDF Page A

been something about him downright repulsive to Kate — and still was.
    Ron laughed, and Kate noticed the collar of his shirt cutting into his thick and reddening neck. White spittle hovered in drops at the corners of his mouth, putting her off her drink. Kate contemplated this attraction/repulsion thing. She had encountered this in other parts of her life, certain people whom she couldn’t stand to watch eating, for instance, or from whom she had to turn away when they cleared their throats. Must be some animal, primal thing, pheromones or something, perhaps to do with avoiding impregnation by one’s kin. (And Kate dearly hoped Ron wasn’t kin.)
    â€œâ€¦and it’s not that they didn’t have the technical savvy, they just decided to shut her down.”
    Kate came to, realizing she had entirely missed whatever they were supposed to be talking about.
    â€œSo, what do you think?” said Ron.
    Kate was just making peace with her panic when a short, platinum blonde came up and squeezed Ron’s arm. There was something distinctly familiar about this woman. And something odd, too. No. Could it — ? No. Yes. It was Hille Hatter (Maddy Hatter as everyone called her), the party hostess whom Kate hadn’t yet actually encountered. Wow. Kate knew for a fact Hille’s transmission had put on about twice the mileage the bodywork would suggest.
    â€œIs it really you, Kate?” smiled Hille, who had obviously read Kate’s line by mistake. For there was clearly little left of the Hille Kate had known. Her longish ski-jump nose had become a button, her formerly unremarkable chest now pushed up two pale pillows under an unnaturally taut chin.
    To avoid the obvious response to Hille’s query, Kate was forced to engage in some serious self-talk. “It’s me, all right,” she said. Kate poked at her own face. “Yup. Definitely me.”
    Conversation ground on. Now and then, Kate rewarded herself with a glance over Hille’s tiny shoulder at Nicholas, who as of yet had not looked her way. If it hadn’t been for beautiful, goddamned J.P. Marcotte, it could have been Kate, not Kathleen, who stood beside Nicholas now with a self-satisfied smirk, cradling a drink and dispensing beneficence.
    Owing to Kate’s natural reticence in crowds, and an innate sense of politesse, she was unable to evade Ron throughout the evening. Repeatedly, she was pinned, and thus utterly failed to move within range of Nicholas or anyone else. Despite the greater social loss, however, Kate’s encounter with Ron and Hille was to prove fruitful. Not for the stimulating conversation — they were both crashing bores — but for an idea Kate formed during her entrapment. As Hille came and went, looking after her guests, and Ron droned on, an image of Charlie Brown popped into Kate’s head. Then Lucy. Ah, Lucy. Aside from her gargantuan mouth, what Kate loved most about Lucy was her acuity. A born psychologist, Lucy. Lucy had the whole Peanuts gang figured out.
    As Kate pondered the world of Peanuts , a diffuse cloud of abstract thought began to differentiate as discrete ideas. And as the night wore on, these ideas gathered more substance, like empty thought-bubbles being filled in. Walking home under the laser-bright stars, Kate fleshed out the possibilities. By the time she turned up her street, a scheme was fully formed and plausible. Payment could be pro-rata — or even by donation. Strictly cash only. By the time Kate walked in her door, she had an informal business plan.

    Monday morning, Kate sat at her desk, fiddling around on the Grave Concern website, pretending to work. What Kate was really doing was waiting for a customer. Any customer would do. Never mind that people usually phoned or emailed. Kate was keen to try out her new idea in the flesh.
    But maybe not yet.
    Because who should walk in but old man Marcotte, neither tall nor energetic, but still very much a