The Body in the Boudoir Read Online Free PDF Page B

grabbed it before realizing Tom couldn’t possibly be in Boston so soon. It was Hope.
    â€œI think I may have overreacted.”
    â€œUn-huh,” Faith said. Her eyelids were closing again.
    â€œWho knows what’s going on in the guy’s life? Pressure from someone. A family member or business associate forcing him to switch his account to their person.”
    â€œTrue, true.”
    â€œAre you okay? You sound funny. Funny peculiar, not ha-ha.”
    â€œTired, very tired. Talk tomorrow?”
    â€œI’ll be at work, so call there.” Hope didn’t take holidays.
    And Tom Fairchild did call that night. And the next, and the next . . .
    â€œI have bad news, good news, and bad news,” Josie said. They were freezing various cookie doughs and puff pastry for the Valentine’s Day luncheons they were doing on and before the fourteenth. January was creeping out in a slothlike manner with only a few jobs on the books. Howard was in Belize with his friend Michael, snorkeling and coming up with ideas for all sorts of Caribbean-inspired drinks, according to the postcard he’d sent. Faith was going to have to put in an order for extra guavas, passion fruit, pineapples, and coconuts when he returned, but she drew the line at paper parasols, although she’d heard that tiki was making a kitschy comeback.
    â€œTell me in order,” Faith said anxiously. “Nothing too bad, I hope.”
    â€œLet me get some coffee. You?”
    â€œOkay.” The news was coffee bad, not shot-of-brandy bad, she thought, relieved.
    They sat at the counter with their steaming mugs.
    â€œMy grandmother passed. I got a call from one of my cousins this morning.”
    â€œOh, Josie, I’m so sorry,” Faith said, reaching to give her friend a hug.
    Josie took out a packet of tissues and dabbed at her eyes.
    â€œI knew this was coming. When I saw her at Christmas, she told me it was a final good-bye and that she was ready for the Lord. I teased her, ‘Is the Lord ready for you,’ and that got a laugh. I wish you could have met her. She was an amazing woman.”
    â€œI wish I had, too. Even though we only spoke on the phone a few times I could tell she was a very special person.”
    â€œI owe her my life. She’s the one who insisted I finish high school and found the money for me to go to college. I was five when my parents died, and she’s the only parent I had. My mother was her youngest and it was a lot for my grandmother to take me on at her age.”
    The tears started again.
    â€œWhen is the funeral?” Faith asked. “You should probably leave today.”
    Josie nodded. “Wish you could come—and my cousin said the house was already filling up with food.”
    Faith wished she could, too. Aside from being there for her friend, she was picturing the platters of fried chicken, country ham, bowls of macaroni and cheese, collard greens, potato salad, succotash, deviled eggs, and sweets—banana pudding, pies, layer cakes. The Southern way of death was infinitely better than the triangles of bread sandwiching a millimeter of fillings like anchovy paste and perhaps a thimbleful of sherry that characterized Northern obsequies.
    â€œMy cousin also told me something else. It’s the good news. Faith, she left me her house! And all her savings.”
    â€œI’m so glad for you,” Faith said. If anyone deserved this, it was Josie. Her grandmother may have raised her, but Josie was devoted to the woman in turn, spending her vacation time in Richmond and calling every day. Faith had seen photographs of the turn-of-the-twentieth-century brick house that Mrs. Wells had purchased with her husband in the 1930s and lovingly restored.
    â€œThe location is perfect, between downtown and the historic Fan District. And it has a wide front porch, a veranda in back, and a big garden. She loved her garden.”
    Faith got up to pour some