Not a Chance in Helen Read Online Free PDF Page A

witness the unbearable beauty of the bluffs.
    Helen decided she liked spring best of all except for the years when the rains fell too fast and the river rose too quickly, flooding the town and making a canoe the favored mode of transportation, River Bend seemed at its best dressed in green. It took away her breath to see the foliage on the bluffs so verdant against the chalky façades. Cicadas hummed their nightly tune from unseen places. Owls hooted plaintively, and whippoorwills joined the chorus. There was just a hint of a chill in the night air.
    Why, she wondered, would anyone want to live anywhere else?
    Downtown, the parallel rows of shops that ran barely two blocks were fronted with barrels bursting with pansies and petunias, signs of the Ladies Civic Improvement League in action.
    There was the drugstore and corner grocery, the one-pump gas station, the stationery store, and the sheriff’s office next door to Agnes March’s antiques shop. All were dark save for the diner. Its plate glass window spilled light onto the sidewalk.
    The door jingled as she entered, leaving the stillness of the night for the swell of voices.
    “Helen! Over here!”
    She looked across the crowded room to see Jean waving from a booth in the far corner.
    Others bid her hello as well, and she paused to exchange quick greetings with each. Erma swept past in her checkerboard pink uniform, five hot plates balanced on her arms. Still, she managed a grin and a friendly, “Hey, there, Helen, be right with ya.”
    Erma had been at the diner for as long as Helen could remember and never seemed to have a bit of trouble doing two things at once.
    Sheriff Frank Biddle swiveled about on a stool at the counter and ceased filling his mouth with French fries long enough to nod at Helen. His wife, Sarah, was out of town for a day or two, visiting her mother in Springfield. Helen didn’t doubt that Erma would feed the town’s sole lawman morning, noon, and dusk while his better half was gone.
    “You’re right on time,” Jean remarked as Helen sat down.
    “And I’m starving,” Helen confessed.
    Her friend sipped coffee, a plastic-coated menu at her left elbow. Helen snagged it before slipping glasses from her purse. Once she had her specs perched on her nose, she opened the menu to study the taped-on note about the day’s specials.
    “You get a chance to see Eleanora?” she asked and peered over the menu as a frown erased the smile from Jean’s mouth.
    “She wouldn’t let me past the kitchen,” Jean admitted and set her coffee down, keeping her hands around the mug as if to warm them. “Nothing’s changed as far as she’s concerned, the old bat.”
    “Now Jean,” Helen softly scolded.
    “Well, it’s true.”
    “You didn’t give her the food you’d made?”
    Jean fiddled with the scarf tied round her ponytail. “I put everything in Mother-in-law Dearest’s fridge. Though, let me tell you, I was tempted to just turn around and bring it home.”
    “You did the right thing,” Helen said and reached out to pat her friend’s hand. But Jean wouldn’t meet her eyes.
    The noise of a throat being cleared drew Helen’s attention up, and she removed her specs to find herself staring into the weathered face of Frank Biddle.
    “Sheriff,” she said, noting the ketchup at the corner of his mouth and the spot on his brown tie as well.
    “Hello, Frank,” Jean greeted him.
    “Mrs. Duncan,” he said as the ceiling lamps glanced off the thinning spot atop his hatless head.
    “Uh, Mrs. Evans,” he said, meeting Helen’s gaze directly. He set a palm on the table and leaned over. “I heard you were witness to an accident this morning.”
    “What accident?” Helen set the menu down.
    “Mrs. Duncan,” he told her, looking at Jean for an instant. His cheeks flushed. “No, I mean, old Mrs. Duncan.”
    Jean stared into her coffee.
    Helen wished he hadn’t brought the subject up. “It wasn’t an accident exactly, Sheriff,” she said,