Still Life with Shape-shifter Read Online Free PDF Page A

stepmother—in a house in Kirkwood until she was five. Then your family abruptly sold the house and moved down here.” He glances around the room again. “Back when
here
was a much less developed part of the world. You probably didn’t have neighbors for two miles on either side of you when you first bought this house.”
    I don’t say anything, but he’s exactly right. We hadn’t even been on the school-bus route at that time; Gwen or my father had to drive me to school until I got my license a year later.
    “When Ann was old enough to go to kindergarten, she didn’t. Your stepmother elected to homeschool her. That might have been considered a little odd in this neck of the woods, but your father put out the story that she had frail health, and people tended to accept that. Your dad let it be known that the damn doctors could never figure out exactly what was wrong with his little girl. People tried to be sympathetic without appearing to pry.”
    Well, that depended on the person, of course. Kurt Markham’s mother used to grill me endlessly whenever he would bring me by his house or, in later years, when I’d run into her on some ill-fated shopping expedition. “So what exactly is it that’s wrong with your sister, dear? My niece died of leukemia when she was four years old. The saddest thing. And George’s nephew, he has lupus—although I never understand exactly what lupus is. But his doctor is at Barnes in St. Louis if you ever want his phone number. I do hope Ann’s feeling better. And how about your father? He was always such an
interesting
man.”
    I never gave her any details. “They’re fine, thank you.”
    Though, by the time I graduated from college, my father was in the dementia wing of a West County retirement center, and Ann was . . . Ann.
    “Then your father got sick,” Brody says, employing the most euphemistic term, “and your stepmother had already left town for good. You were a legal adult by this time. You kept the house, worked part-time, put yourself through school, got a job, and here you are.” He leans forward over the table. “But Ann hasn’t been seen around these parts much since she was about sixteen. You tell people she went to California to try to become an actress. People believe it because she was always such a pretty girl. But she’s never gotten a job in any commercial or TV show they’ve ever heard of. Too bad. They’d like to brag about the local girl who made good.”
    About halfway through his recitation, I’d dropped my eyes again, but now I lift them to give him another unfriendly stare. “Sounds like you’ve learned a lot about my family,” I say. “I’m just curious to know which of my friends and neighbors you’ve been talking to. And don’t tell me you’re
protecting your sources
. I’d like to know who gossips that much with total strangers.”
    “Well, my primary informant wanted me to tell you hello from her, so I know she won’t mind,” he says. “Ella Dartmouth—remember her?”
    I nod. She’d worked as a secretary at Maryville for a hundred years, or thereabouts, and was one of the few people my father kept in touch with even after he left the university. She could have supplied virtually all the information Brody has just recited—and would have done so without having the slightest idea that her words had the potential to do any harm.
    “Who else?” I ask.
    “Your high-school principal.”
    I’m a little bewildered. “Mrs. McAvoy?” She’d been famous for knowing the name and family tree of every student at Dagmar High, but I wouldn’t have said she was intimately acquainted with my situation.
    “That’s right. But we only talked about you in a general way. I told her I was doing an article about rural schools that turn out superstars—writers, actors, politicians, that sort of thing—and did she have any examples for me? I had a few yearbooks with me, to prompt her memory, and I’d point to a few random faces as we