Morgan James - Promise McNeal 01 - Quiet the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

can smell him all the way to the house when the wind turns. Do you happen to know Fletcher Enloe? He doesn’t seem to have a number listed in the phone book and I really want to talk to him about keeping that goat somewhere else on his property.”
    “Phone! Shoot, I hear that old man’s so cheap he’s probably still uses a Sears catalog for toilet paper. I doubt he’s got a telephone. I’ll ask Daddy if he ever sees him when he takes the mail around. When his wife was alive, they used to come in here pretty regular. Since she died, I haven’t seen him in a while. Somebody should probably go check on him anyway; he doesn’t have any close kin. It was real sad when his wife got cancer and passed away. She was a nice lady. I’ll ask Daddy. He won’t mind going over there, especially if he knows its you asking.” Susan shot me a mischievous look. “I think Daddy is sweet on you, Miz P. What do you think about that? Isn’t that interesting?”
    I was shocked. Daniel, sweet on me? Now who was old fashioned? It was way too early in the morning for that kind of information. Susan stood her ground and waited for an answer. It had been so long since I even considered a man being “sweet on me” the whole concept felt foreign. True, I had not been exactly celibate since my divorce. Fact is, I’d had probably more than my share of short-term relationships, mutually satisfying sometimes, sometimes not so. The plan was don’t become too attached, and thus too dependent on another man. The “Father Knows Best” concept of happy housewife being loved and cared for by the big strong husband, had not worked for me. Not that I didn’t want to be cared for. Who doesn’t? Sadly, I guess my ex-husband hadn’t read the script about fidelity. Besides, Daniel—well Daniel didn’t seem to be the kind of man who would be content to just be sweet on someone. Handsome as he was, Daniel seemed to be still water, running deep. Long term. Too risky for my cautious nature. I opted for a major sidestep to Susan’s question. “I think you misconstrue your Daddy’s kindness. That’s what I think.”
    Susan reached over and topped off my coffee, adding extra cream to my mug and continuing to smile.
    “Thanks. I’ll call you later to see how your day goes,” I added, and made a quick get-a-way.
    Back in my car, I checked my reflection in the visor mirror as the engine warmed. Big surprise, still the same unruly mop I had when I left home. I dragged a brush through it and tried to hem up a few errant curls behind my ears with a pair of tortoiseshell combs I found on the dash, and was grateful I’d chosen a good pair of silver and amethyst drop earrings and a scarf to add a classier look to my plain dress. If I was headed to the big city, I needed to blend in with the crowd and not look like country come to town. A closer study of my washed out, early morning face told me I should have added some color, maybe subtle blue eye shadow, a little mascara, though trying to apply eye makeup so early in the morning usually results in dried goop working its way behind my contact lens and is more aggravation than it’s worth. The mirror also reminded me I was beginning to favor the wild witch of the north and really did need a cut and style. And what was this with the color? Lighter blondish strands looking suspiciously pearly gray in the daylight were invading me. Pretty soon I’d have to face the fact that I needed heavy stock in L’Oreal to stave off the aging. Or, give up and just let it all go gray. As I weighted that possibility, I drove out of Granny’s parking lot, headed south, and also weighed my decision to move away from Atlanta.
    Why on earth did I think a move was a good idea? This morning, picking my way back south in the fog, it was hard to actually list the reasons for leaving Atlanta. Sure, the traffic was murderous and the constant motion of people and vehicles was bordering on claustrophobic; and there was that