Swan Song Read Online Free PDF Page B

box and pick us up in front of the hotel,” I told him heartlessly and disconnected.
    We sagged into chairs that offered a view of the pick-up zone outside the main entrance. May closed her eyes, and I was dismayed to see how tired she looked. May was always so sharp and energetic, I considered her Margo’s contemporary, more than her aunt, but the woman was well into her seventies, I reminded myself.
    “I wish you didn’t have to come back here tomorrow,” I said.
    “Believe me, honey, I wish that, too.” She opened her eyes and frowned. “I’m really worried about Lizzie after her drunken rant last night and now this so-called family emergency. I don’t want to intrude, but I’m going to call her when we get back to the office.”
    “Do you think she made up the family emergency thing to get out of speaking today?”
    “It wouldn’t surprise me, especially the mood she’s been in,” May replied thoughtfully.
    Duane pulled the Jetta up to the door, and we hurried to claim our ride.
     
     
    By mid-afternoon Margo and I were hunkered down in the Mack Realty office, returning phone calls and setting up house viewings for the coming week.
    “Fresh coffee, wage slaves,” May called down the half-flight of stairs from the lobby, and we were more than ready to carry our empty mugs up to refill. The two youngsters were at Becky’s desk, packing and labeling boxes of last year’s closing files to make way for this year’s paperwork. They took frequent breaks to work on the crossword puzzle in a copy of the Hartford Courant some visitor had left in the lobby.
    “I’m surprised y’all know what a real newspaper is,” Margo snarked in passing.
    “Very useful for lining birdcages, my old grannie tells me,” Duane retorted without looking up.
    “Don’t be such a smartass,” Becky admonished. She grinned at Margo. “I think newspapers are very fun, antiquated but interesting. I absolutely love the comic strips and how the characters never get any older. How old do you figure Dagwood and Blondie are now?”
    “How about Funky Winkerbean?” I said, ignoring her question. “The last I saw, he’s nearly as ancient as we are, and he started out as a high school kid.”
    “Unfortunately, Funky’s not likely to get any older. I’d be surprised if printed newspapers last another five years,” May said wistfully. “I’ll miss them. It’s such a nice way to start the day, especially knowing I’ll be staring at a lighted screen for the bulk of my time.”
    “Did you reach Lizabeth Mulgrew?” I asked May as she poured out fresh coffee, which we carried to the sitting area by Becky’s desk. Margo and I flopped onto the sofa, and May chose an overstuffed side chair. We’d removed a mouse nest from the sofa a few months ago, and May had avoided it ever since.
    “Her phone went right to voice mail. I’ll try her again this evening. I sure hope she’s all right,” May responded before changing the subject. “What are your plans for the weekend? Whatever they are, I’ll bet they’re more fun than mine. It’s too bad the awards dinner is for members only, or I’d drag you and Margo there by the hair.”
    Margo snorted into her mug. “You would, too. Well, I’m happy to say I’ll be spendin’ tomorrow evenin’ with my handsome husband. We’ve got reserved seats for Bridge of Spies in that posh West Hartford theater with the reclining chairs, but if we don’t like the movie, I’m sure we’ll think of somethin’ else to do.” She smiled lasciviously, doubtless thinking about John Harkness, her attractive husband of only a few years and a senior member of the Wethersfield Police Department.
    “Knock off the ribald references; there are children present.” I indicated Duane and Becky, who executed simultaneous eye rolls. “I’m afraid my Saturday is allocated to grocery shopping and laundry. Armando will be in Florida playing with his Telecom friends for another week, so it’s up to me to