Pineapple Lies Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Amy Vansant
They just want the house clear while they finish up.”
“You didn’t kill that lady who cut your car off the other day, did you?” asked Darla, chuckling as she, too, arrived at Charlotte’s side.
Declan looked at her.
“I think it’s my mother.”
“Oh,” said Darla, covering he mouth with her hand. “Oh, my. Oh, I am so sorry. I should know better than to joke about something like this. Oh, I feel terrible.”
“Declan, this is Mariska and Darla,” said Charlotte stopping to point to each in turn.
He shook their hands. “Declan Bingham.”
“Is your door unlocked?” Charlotte asked. “I think he should sit down for a bit.”
“Yes, yes.” said Mariska hurrying to open the door.
They went inside. Mariska’s pound mutt, Izzy, ran up to greet them and Charlotte had to scramble to unclip Abby’s leash before they all became entangled and fell to the ground like hog-tied calves. Released, the two dogs raced around the house together, narrowly missing furniture and knees. Part Dalmatian, part rat terrier and part wildly over-fed, Izzy looked like a black-speckled body pillow with radar dishes for ears.
Charlotte walked past the kitchen counter to the living room and motioned for Declan to sit in a large, cushy La-Z-Boy chair. Every house in Pineapple Port had running water, electricity and a La-Z-Boy with the shape of the man of the house worn into it.
“Can I get you something Declan?” asked Mariska, tight on their heels. “Water? Milk? Soda? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” he said.
“Juice?”
“No.”
“Do you have any coffee left?” asked Darla.
“I do. Let me brew you a fresh pot. Declan, I have coffee and some milk. It’s two percent…or creamer…I have hazelnut creamer.”
“No, thank you.”
“What about a donut? I have donuts. Oh! I have some wonderful muffins from Publix. Do you want a muffin? Blueberry?”
“Have you tried their pineapple coconut muffins?”’ asked Darla. “They are to die. Simply to die.”
“I haven’t! I’ll have to get some. That sounds wonderful.”
“No, nothing, thank you,” said Declan.
“Or corn muffins…I might have corn. No… No, I think Bob ate the corn muffins with the chili last night… Oh! Cinnamon apple! I do have a cinnamon apple…”
“No, thank you.”
“I could cut a banana. Or I—”
“Mariska!” said Charlotte. “He doesn’t want anything!”
“Okay.” Mariska looked around her kitchen. “I have some leftover chicken…”
Charlotte shot her a look and she shrugged.
“Well, I do ,” she mumbled.
Mariska went to the coffee pot and dumped that morning’s remains into the sink to start afresh. She didn’t like to drink coffee more than three minutes old, and she didn’t expect her guests to have to put up with nonsense like that either.
Charlotte removed a fake cat from a nearby chair and sat down. The cat was black and white and curled in a ball as if sleeping. Declan looked the cat as she set it on the floor.
“That is terrifying,” he mumbled.
“I know. I can’t tell you how long I’ve begged her to get rid of it. Used to give me nightmares.”
Declan offered a half smile and rubbed his face with his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m acting crazy. It was just a shock.”
“I can’t imagine! Did you—never mind.”
Charlotte shook her head and waved her hands to say she was dropping the question.
“What?”
“Nothing, I…I was going to ask if you’d thought she was still alive. Before today.”
Declan sighed. “I don’t know. I guess part of me thought she was. Honestly, now I’m not sure if this is better or worse. It hurt to think she ran out on us. Now I know she didn’t leave on purpose, but she’s dead. Part of me hoped she was living a happy life somewhere.”
Mariska slipped a small plate on the table next to Declan’s chair.
“It’s sharp cheese and pepperoni and crackers,” she whispered.
Charlotte growled.
“They’re Pepperidge Farm!”
“You didn’t kill that lady who cut your car off the other day, did you?” asked Darla, chuckling as she, too, arrived at Charlotte’s side.
Declan looked at her.
“I think it’s my mother.”
“Oh,” said Darla, covering he mouth with her hand. “Oh, my. Oh, I am so sorry. I should know better than to joke about something like this. Oh, I feel terrible.”
“Declan, this is Mariska and Darla,” said Charlotte stopping to point to each in turn.
He shook their hands. “Declan Bingham.”
“Is your door unlocked?” Charlotte asked. “I think he should sit down for a bit.”
“Yes, yes.” said Mariska hurrying to open the door.
They went inside. Mariska’s pound mutt, Izzy, ran up to greet them and Charlotte had to scramble to unclip Abby’s leash before they all became entangled and fell to the ground like hog-tied calves. Released, the two dogs raced around the house together, narrowly missing furniture and knees. Part Dalmatian, part rat terrier and part wildly over-fed, Izzy looked like a black-speckled body pillow with radar dishes for ears.
Charlotte walked past the kitchen counter to the living room and motioned for Declan to sit in a large, cushy La-Z-Boy chair. Every house in Pineapple Port had running water, electricity and a La-Z-Boy with the shape of the man of the house worn into it.
“Can I get you something Declan?” asked Mariska, tight on their heels. “Water? Milk? Soda? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” he said.
“Juice?”
“No.”
“Do you have any coffee left?” asked Darla.
“I do. Let me brew you a fresh pot. Declan, I have coffee and some milk. It’s two percent…or creamer…I have hazelnut creamer.”
“No, thank you.”
“What about a donut? I have donuts. Oh! I have some wonderful muffins from Publix. Do you want a muffin? Blueberry?”
“Have you tried their pineapple coconut muffins?”’ asked Darla. “They are to die. Simply to die.”
“I haven’t! I’ll have to get some. That sounds wonderful.”
“No, nothing, thank you,” said Declan.
“Or corn muffins…I might have corn. No… No, I think Bob ate the corn muffins with the chili last night… Oh! Cinnamon apple! I do have a cinnamon apple…”
“No, thank you.”
“I could cut a banana. Or I—”
“Mariska!” said Charlotte. “He doesn’t want anything!”
“Okay.” Mariska looked around her kitchen. “I have some leftover chicken…”
Charlotte shot her a look and she shrugged.
“Well, I do ,” she mumbled.
Mariska went to the coffee pot and dumped that morning’s remains into the sink to start afresh. She didn’t like to drink coffee more than three minutes old, and she didn’t expect her guests to have to put up with nonsense like that either.
Charlotte removed a fake cat from a nearby chair and sat down. The cat was black and white and curled in a ball as if sleeping. Declan looked the cat as she set it on the floor.
“That is terrifying,” he mumbled.
“I know. I can’t tell you how long I’ve begged her to get rid of it. Used to give me nightmares.”
Declan offered a half smile and rubbed his face with his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m acting crazy. It was just a shock.”
“I can’t imagine! Did you—never mind.”
Charlotte shook her head and waved her hands to say she was dropping the question.
“What?”
“Nothing, I…I was going to ask if you’d thought she was still alive. Before today.”
Declan sighed. “I don’t know. I guess part of me thought she was. Honestly, now I’m not sure if this is better or worse. It hurt to think she ran out on us. Now I know she didn’t leave on purpose, but she’s dead. Part of me hoped she was living a happy life somewhere.”
Mariska slipped a small plate on the table next to Declan’s chair.
“It’s sharp cheese and pepperoni and crackers,” she whispered.
Charlotte growled.
“They’re Pepperidge Farm!”