Mama Rides Shotgun Read Online Free PDF Page A

means a heart attack.’’
    “I know,’’ I said. “That’s how my daddy died.’’
    Doc closed the backseat door and leaned against it. “I’m sorry. How old were you when you lost him?’’
    “Ten. Maddie was almost fourteen. Marty was just eight.’’
    “That’s tough for girls, growing up without a father.’’
    “Well, we had a few stepfathers along the way.’’
    “It’s not the same, though, is it?’’
    I shook my head. As I did, I caught a glimpse of something circular and ceramic on the front passenger seat of Doc’s Saab. He saw me staring at it through the window.
    “Your mother told me about the trouble y’all had last summer, and about how you want to make sure there’s nothing suspicious about Lawton’s death. She said you were worried someone might mess with that tasting mug. So I brought it with me, for safekeeping.’’
    I started to protest. He held up a hand.
    “I’ll hang onto the cup and the crusty stuff inside until the cause of death is absolutely certain. But I can tell you right now, with nearly sixty years of medical experience, the man died of a heart attack. It happens.”
    He shrugged, like Lawton’s death was of minor consequence.
    I know it happens, I felt like saying. I just got through telling you it happened to my own daddy. I was having trouble getting a read on Doc Abel. One moment, he seemed kindly; the next, almost mean.
    Before I had the chance to figure out what I thought about him, Wynonna called out from the porch. “Doc?’’ Her voice trembled. “You better come on in here.’’
    We hurried inside to find Mama gently shaking Trey by the shoulders. He was now stretched out on the couch.
    “We tried to get him up and get some coffee into him so we could tell him what happened,’’ Wynonna said.
    “He’s not responding,’’ Mama added, shaking hard enough now to loosen Trey’s fillings.
    Squeezing past Mama, Doc slowly lowered his bulk beside the couch. The floor seemed to shudder when his knees made contact with the bearskin rug. His fingers moved expertly to the pulse point at Trey’s wrist. He leaned toward his mouth and sniffed.
    “Stinkin’ drunk, is all he is. Like usual.” Wrinkling his nose, Doc dropped Trey’s wrist like it was something nasty. “Other than a liver well on its way to being pickled, the boy’s fine.’’
    After the laborious process of rising from the rug, Doc collapsed into a heavy, cowhide-upholstered chair. As I listened to his ragged breathing, my eyes returned to Trey. Drool dribbled from his open mouth. His head lolled to one side. A brewery’s worth of beer-stench escaped from his pores.
    An image formed in my mind of a very different Trey. We were in high school. He’d just led the Himmarshee Brahmans to a state football championship. He strutted the halls with a perky blonde cheerleader on each arm—a king in a cowboy hat.
    What in the world had happened to Trey Bramble?
    Outside, a dog began to bark. A moment later we heard clunks and squeaks as a vehicle jounced over the unpaved drive.
    “That’ll be Belle, Lawton’s daughter.’’ Wynonna was pulling at the skin on her hands again. “I called her earlier, and caught her on her cell. She was already on her way here for dinner. I didn’t want to tell her about Lawton on the phone, you know?’’ She looked first at me, then at Mama, for reassurance.
    “You did the right thing, honey.’’ Mama covered Wynonna’s nervous hands with her own. “That’s not the kind of news anybody should get while they’re driving.’’
    The engine quit. A car door slammed. Keys jangled. Doc Abel huffed to his feet, holding his black bag ready. We all watched, waiting, as the front door opened.
    “What’s everybody looking at?’’
    The young woman who stepped into the room had coppery red hair, falling in wild curls past her shoulders. Her eyes were light green, the color of cypress needles in spring. The gaze she turned on us was curious,