Mother Finds a Body Read Online Free PDF Page A

and another one on the way. It’s disgraceful.”
    â€œWhy that wagon, Mother?”
    â€œWell, we don’t own one, and you certainly didn’t expect me to carry that corpse over my shoulder, did you?”
    Mother was silent a moment. We walked on toward the trailer.
    â€œYou know, Louise, I do believe my asthma has cleared up by itself. It’s either that new medicine or this dry climate.” Mother breathed deeply and clearly.
    â€œYes,” she said. “It certainly has. Oh, by the way, dear, let’s not tell Biff about the body right now. Let’s wait until later and surprise him.”

3 BY SEVEN THAT MORNING THE LAST FIREMAN HAD left and the trailer camp settled down to sleep again. The smell of burnt brush and chemicals coming from the woods was like a badly kept Turkish bath, but my nose had been subjected to such a variety of odors during the last week that it was losing its sensitivity. Anyway, I kept it close to the pot of coffee that was boiling away on the relief stove, so the smell didn’t bother me as much as it did Biff.
    He divided his complaints between the smell and a blister on his hand. I rather liked the blister. It made him look as though he worked for a living, but I did agree with him about the air.
    â€œSmells like something Bill might have dragged into the trailer,” Biff said. Then he started laughing. “Boy, if this isn’t one for the book!”
    His laugh sounded dirty to me. I glanced up from the coffeepot, and that made him laugh louder.
    â€œPunkin, you ought to see yourself,” he said. “You lost half your eyebrows.”
    I don’t see anything funny about that to this day. I had lost half my eyebrows and my bangs were singed. Not only that, my hair was gray with smoke. So were my clothes.
    â€œI don’t think that’s very kind of you,” I said in a martyred tone. “Laughing at me when I’m bending over this hot stove making coffee for you . I could very nicely have used the time putting on full makeup, and, anyway, if you think you’re Rembrandt!”
    Biff rattled the cups and saucers around on the table and brought the can of milk from the extra icebox on the running board of the trailer. By then I was beginning to think the setup was funny, too, that is, everything but my singed eyebrows.
    â€œYou were wonderful, honey,” I said offhand-like. “Thinking about digging the trench and everything. I certainly didn’t see anyone else working so hard,” I stirred the coffee vigorously. No sense in letting him think he was too wonderful, I decided.
    â€œYou were pretty swell yourself,” Biff was just as offhand. “Driving the car away and pouring water and . . . Say! Where is the car?”
    In all the excitement I had forgotten it myself. Then I remembered I had left the animals in it.
    â€œIt’s down the road a ways,” I said. “Have your coffee first. Then go get it. While your gone I’ll fix the dogs’ breakfast.”
    â€œPunkin, the Personality Girl of the Old Opera, making breakfast!” Biff said it comfortably. He settled back in the chair and lit two cigarettes, one for me. “I bet if I told the boys they’d never believe it. Here you are, living in a trailer camp in Ysleta, Texas. Corpse in the bathtub, fire in the woods, everything you need to start light housekeeping. And me with a blister on my hand yet. A blister from a shovel!”
    Biff caressed the blister and let a dreamy light fill his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. He was visualizing the story in newspaper print. That’s the only trouble with marrying in the business—no secrets.
    The no secrets reminded me of my own secret. I hadn’t had a chance to tell Biff about Mother’s excursion into the woods, and he looked so pleased with life in general that I didn’t have the heart to spoil things. Not until we’d had our coffee, anyway. I had no