Murder Carries a Torch Read Online Free PDF

Mama.
    I love you,
    Haley
    E-MAIL
    FROM: MAMA
    TO: HALEY
    SUBJECT: BALLS
    Honey, is your Aunt Sister lying to me or did Philip give her a silicone testicle for Debbie to squeeze when she’s in labor? Shesaid it was her pearls and put it in my purse which, fortunately, the customs people didn’t search. I could wring her neck. Pukey Lukey is here, Virginia has run off with a house painter who lives up at Steele. That’s the little town where you exit to go to Horse Pens 40. Remember? Where we bought your Log Cabin quilt. Anyway, we’re going up there today. He says he just wants to know that she’s okay. He showed up yesterday looking like the wrath of God. She’s been gone ten days. We told him to call Richard, but he says Richard is too busy running the government, a scary thought. I’ll keep you posted.
    How was the party?
    I miss you.
    Love,
    Mama
    As I turned off the computer, I heard the toilet in the hall bathroom flush. It was 8:30, Fred had gone to work and I had been up an hour, but we had been quiet so Luke could sleep. There was no hurry about going to Steele.
    I knocked on the guest room door and handed Luke a toothbrush and a razor. He was buttoning the blue plaid shirt he had worn the day before and I considered offering him one of Fred’s, but decided it would be too small for him. A week of worrying hadn’t lessened Luke’s belly.
    “There’s coffee when you’re ready,” I said.
    “Thanks.”
    “An egg?”
    “Just some cereal.”
    I went into the kitchen and picked Muffin up from the table. Out of the bay window, I could see the bare limbs of the trees bending in the wind. Dark gray clouds were layered across the sky. If this weren’t Birmingham,Alabama, and if I hadn’t just heard the weatherman say it was going to be partly cloudy, I would have sworn it was going to snow. I checked the thermometer on the deck. Thirty-eight degrees. No sign of Woofer. He was taking full advantage of his igloo doghouse, one of the best buys I ever made.
    “Looks like a raw day,” Luke said when he came in.
    “Looks like snow,” I agreed. “But the weatherman says it’s not going to. He says it’s going to be partly cloudy.”
    Luke looked better, probably because he had shaved.
    I held up Cheerios and corn flakes. He pointed to the Cheerios. I poured some in two bowls and cut up half a banana in each.
    “Thanks.” Luke picked up a spoon and began to eat silently, glancing occasionally out of the bay window. Somehow this worried me more than the nonstop talk of the day before.
    “I could fix us some sandwiches to take,” I offered, finishing my cereal. “Turkey? Ham?”
    He nodded, though I was sure my words hadn’t scored a hit. Wherever Luke’s thoughts were, they weren’t in my kitchen.
    I got the sandwich makings out of the refrigerator and was spreading mayonnaise on a slice of bread when Luke said, “I think Virginia’s dead, Patricia Anne.”
    “Oh, Luke, of course she’s not. Don’t even think like that. We’re going to find her today.”
    “No, we’re not.”
    There was a finality in his voice that made me look up. He was staring out of the window, both hands clasped around a coffee mug.
    Did he know more than he had told us? Had sixty-three-year old Virginia run off with a house painter or had something else happened? How well did we really know Luke? We saw him at family weddings and funerals, exchanged Christmas and birthday cards.
    I slapped a slice of turkey on the bread and told myself I was crazy, still jet-lagged. This was Pukey Lukey, our cousin, for heaven’s sake. Nevertheless, I jumped when Luke pushed his chair back. He came over, put his mug in the dishwasher, and gave me a hug.
    “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome.” The hug was sweet, appreciative. What on God’s earth had I been thinking?
    “I’m going to call that phone number one more time,” he said. “What kind of a person would call himself Monkey Man?”
    I shrugged. I had just seen Sister coming up