Huckleberry Finished Read Online Free PDF Page B

you?”
    â€œSure,” I said. To tell the truth, I’d read Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn in school, like everybody else, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever picked up anything by Twain since then. I sure as heck couldn’t have written a thesis on him and his work like Vince Mallory had talked about doing.
    But the people who had signed up for the tour didn’t have to know that. I’d done enough research on Twain so I could talk about him with enough enthusiasm and knowledge to satisfy most people with a casual interest in him.
    â€œI’m really looking forward to the performance on the boat tonight,” Louise went on. “That man who plays Mark Twain looks just like him, don’t you think?”
    I agreed that Mark Lansing bore a strong resemblance to the man he portrayed. “I plan to be there, too,” I told Louise, remembering the promise I had made earlier that afternoon. I hoped nothing interfered with that plan.
    I didn’t expect anything serious to come of it, since I’d be back in Atlanta in another day or two, but I wouldn’t mind spending some more time in Mark Lansing’s company. Will Burke and I dated fairly often, but we hadn’t gotten to the point where either of us wanted the relationship to be exclusive. Heck, after having a twenty-year-plus marriage end in divorce, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted anything that committed again.
    I left Louise Kramer poring over the furnishings in the boyhood home and her husband Eddie looking bored. My next stop was the museum and gift shop next door. I described Ben Webster to the clerks behind the counter in the gift shop, but none of them remembered seeing him.
    â€œBut we have so many people coming through here, you know,” one of the women said with an apologetic shrug.
    â€œI know y’all do,” I told her. “I appreciate your help anyway.”
    While I was there I took a quick walk through the museum. Under other circumstances, I might have enjoyed it, but worrying over the Webster situation kept me from concentrating on what I was looking at. After a few minutes I gave up on trying to see the sights for myself and headed across the street to the Becky Thatcher House.
    There was a gift shop there, too, but that clerk didn’t remember Webster, either. The same thing was true at the nearby Twain Interpretive Center and the restored building that had served as the office of Sam Clemens’s father when he was justice of the peace in Hannibal. No one recalled seeing Webster, but because of the amount of tourists that came through all these attractions, nobody could be sure.
    It was time to give up, I told myself. I had done what I could. But even though I knew that was true, logically, worry nibbled at my brain as I walked back to the riverboat. Dusk was settling down over the town. It was going to be a warm night, and we were far enough from St. Louis that the air was fairly clean, without the sort of pollution you get in a big city. Having lived in Atlanta as long as I had, even relatively clean air tasted a little like wine when you took a deep breath of it. I should have been enjoying this gorgeous early evening, instead of worrying.
    Tell that to my nerves. They were as tight as piano wires as I went back on board.
    A reception was scheduled in the salon before dinner. People could come and go as they pleased, of course, but I expected a fairly good turnout. I went to my cabin and traded my slacks, blouse, and blazer for a simple dark blue dress that I thought looked elegant without being flashy. Low heels replaced the comfortable walking shoes I’d been wearing earlier as I tramped around Hannibal. I ran my fingers through my short red hair to fluff it out. I thought I looked good enough to sip a little champagne at the reception and then eat dinner.
    A few of my clients were already in the salon when I got there. I greeted them and asked them how the tour was going for them so