Stone Cold Charade (A Stone Family Novel) Read Online Free PDF Page A

family.
    “Did you need something, Martha?” she
asked as she scanned her plump face when she strolled into the office. Her long
salt-and-pepper hair was drawn back from her clean face in a secure topknot.
Her salmon-pink apron, covered in a dusting of baking flour, was draped over a
pastel print dress that covered her ample figure. Her feet were clad in a pair
of tennis shoes, of all things, but it was her deep-brown eyes carrying a vexed
look that held Alex's concern.
    “There’s someone here to see your
sister. He claims Max sent him, but I could have sworn your sister just left
the ranch in a big-o’ cloud of dust,” she grumbled, still wearing a look of
confusion. Turning her head, she fixed her full gaze on Alex and raised an
eyebrow questioningly.
    “She did,” Alex smiled at Martha’s
expression. “Could you ask him to wait in the den for me, please? I’ll be there
in a minute.”
    Crossing her arms over her chest, Martha
clearly showed that she was miffed at Sam for not informing her of the man’s
arrival. She put her hands on her hips and declared, “I’m glad you know what’s
going on! Because me? I obviously just work here!” she huffed, puzzling over
who the man was and why Sam was not there to meet with him.
    Swinging away abruptly, Martha marched
back down the hall toward the front of the house to deliver the message. Still
muttering about all the ingrates that she had helped raise to adulthood, she
reached the front of the house. After a couple of seconds of quiet, her voice
once again boomed from the vicinity of the kitchen, this time with a new threat
of TV dinners.
    “Sally Jane, the local clerk says
they’re on sale. I think I’ll run right out and load up on the things, enough
for the whole blasted week!”
    Alex cringed, while her stomach cramped
at the prospect. When Martha threatened to do something chances were it was no
empty threat. Plus, Alex knew for a fact staying on her good side was about
life preservation--her own!
    Jokingly, the girls once questioned
Martha about how she put up with Max for all these years. To which she replied
that if the man ever got on her bad side, she would take considerable pleasure
in seeing to it that the man never complained about her cooking, or anything
else, ever again. She went on to describe things clearly, and gave the girls a
mental picture of what would happen if he did complain.
    She painted a picture of Max seated at
the long breakfast table one morning as she calmly strolls in from the kitchen
at his bellow for a second cup of coffee. Raising a bite of fried eggs and
gravy to his lips, he halts as she, not brandishing the coffee pot, marches to
the other end of the table. Wearing her signature flowery apron, she turns,
facing him across its glossy surface. Then, in a flash, she pulls her .45 from
the front pocket, aims, and fires. A quick look of stunned disbelief crosses
Max’s tortured face as he suddenly grabs his gut then keels over. A resounding
splat fills the room as he lands face first in his eggs, over easy, while she
looks on, smiling smugly as the gun still smolders, clenched in her
outstretched hand.
    It always caused the girls to go into
hysterics. Straight-faced Martha claimed the cowhands would have no trouble
helping her dispose of the body on the back forty. She was as bad as their
grandmother, which would explain why the two women were such close friends.
    Emma, the girl’s grandmother, and Martha
were in constant contact. She received weekly reports detailing how Samantha
was “really” doing while working on Looking Glass Ranch. Martha felt it was her
duty to look after everyone on the ranch.
    Martha complained continually that the
house was just too massive for her and Sam to live in, but loved every stick of
furniture and brick that held it together. Her loving hands were what kept it
going and maintained it. She kept it looking as it did when her parents had
refurbished it years before.
    The house was a