PW01 - Died On The Vine Read Online Free PDF

raised their kids and helped them at the start of their careers. The second wife is much younger, more attractive and extremely elegant. She is basically an arm decoration and serves as a visible symbol of his success. Hence the term.”
    Jack was shocked. “Are you kidding? And enough guys do this for there to be a name for it?”
    See how reading broadens the mind? “Sure, look at the photos in the society pages of the paper sometime and you’ll see what I mean.”
    Jack was still amazed. “You mean men will actually leave the wives they are used to and settled in with, and start all over with a total stranger? How do they stand it? And just to show off?”
    “They think that’s what they want, but they all probably have ulcers.” I put down GEB and rolled over to give my honey bear a big hug.
    Orderly and methodical men do have their advantages. I feel fairly comfortable in the belief that Jack will never leave me for an aerobicized blonde bimbo.
    It was three days later when it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to go for a walk.
    Jack had gone to the hardware store to buy new tools. The shovel and the secateurs had never turned up. And he didn’t blame me and didn’t utter an accusing word. But I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that Cissy had wandered off in some space-cadet fugue state and lost his precious tools. But she can’t help it, poor dear, and least said soonest mended.
    I had the feeling that if I was home when Jack returned, I was going to pick a fight and I was going to do all the yelling and I’d wind up feeling like an idiot. So getting out of the house was a good preemptive measure.
    A two mile tramp along the Passatonnack River did much to restore my equilibrium. Danny would say it’s all endorphins, but I think the advancing green of the season and the company of a happy dog must also be given some credit.
    Coming back, I detoured toward the vineyard. Polly had chased many sticks on the outward part of our walk and was now content to pad along at my side.
    The vines are unimpressive this time of year. They looked like puny little sticks tied to wire. I was glad to see that Jack had gotten the pruning done before the tools had gone missing. No doubt that prevented him from being even more exasperated with the situation.
    Looking closely, I could see that the budding was just begun. Every year, I was amazed again at the speed with which the plants would vine, leaf, and produce their luscious fruit.
    Polly whined and darted away, off to investigate something that had caught her attention. Probably something smelly, I thought with resignation. “Polly, come,” I commanded, and she reappeared, only to whine urgently and trot off again.
    I sighed and followed her. Past several rows of vines, I caught up with Polly and her find. It was a ragged bundle of bloody fur. Oh dear, a dead cat. I tried to examine it without getting too much of a look at it. Something calico. Well then, it wasn’t one of the barn cats, no calicos there.
    This must have been what the fox had been after. But it was odd that the fox left the body; surely it should have carried the kill away and consumed it.
    But Polly was still whining, there was something more she wanted me to see. Over there, something squeaking.
    I gladly turned away from the bloody mess and turned to the drainage ditch, where Polly was confronting a tiny kitten. The little fellow was arched like a Halloween cat and his fur stood on end. He spit fiercely at Polly, who watched him intently with her head cocked to one side.
    Poor little thing! The bloody calico thing must have been his mother. He certainly looked like a kitten who’d been without a mother’s care for several days. He seemed to be black with white paws, but was so bedraggled and woebegone, it was hard to tell. He was a wet, skinny mess. Of course I found him irresistible. Positioning Polly behind me (good dog!), I hunkered down and picked the little fellow up. He