The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter Read Online Free PDF

Underbill's dark hair now hung in ringlets about her shoulders. A curling iron, Laura guessed. She wore a pink knit sweater and black jeans.
    Mark Underhill looked Byronic in his oversized white shirt, his dark hair curling about the collar. Laura wondered if he had been asked to grow it longer for his role in the play. Major Underhill was not the sort of man who would have permitted his son to wear such an effete style otherwise.
    The pair did not acknowledge the deputy or 46

    Laura. After an awkward moment of silence, she whispered to LeDonne. "Do you think they've gone into shock? Shouldn't they be seen by a doctor?"
    "The rescue squad came out," LeDonne told her. "They checked their blood pressure, gave them something. The kids didn't want to go to the hospital. Before the rescue squad could argue about it, they had another call come in about a wreck on Route 11, so they had to leave. That's when Spencer called you."
    Laura looked doubtful. "I'll do my best," she murmured, "but I don't have any experience in grief counseling."
    "You're better than nothing."
    The silent figures on the couch stared at the flickering screen. Laura picked up an old oak straight chair and set it next to the sofa.
    Suddenly, Maggie Underhill looked up at her with a curious smile, "He's dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone."
    "Play's over now, Maggie!" said her brother, shaking her arm.
    "It's been a great shock for her," said Laura. Sitting down next to Maggie, she leaned forward and said, "I don't know if you two remember me. I'm Laura Bruce, from the church, and I'm here to do whatever I can to help you get through this awful night."
    Mark Underhill looked at her curiously. "Like what?"
    "I don't know," said Laura. "Would you like to talk? Or perhaps I could make you some tea?

    Perhaps you'd like to go somewhere else for a while."
    "No," said Maggie, who seemed to have come out of her reverie. "We're going to stay here. They're going to take away the bodies. Will they clean it all up?"
    Laura glanced at the deputy, whose shake of the head was almost imperceptible. "I'm afraid not," Laura stammered. "But I'm sure I can have that seen to tomorrow. Meanwhile, is there anyone who should be notified about this? Can I call anyone for you?"
    Maggie Underbill shook her head. "Alone, alone, all all alone," she said dreamily. "Our grandparents are dead. And now Mom and Dad . .."
    "It isn't as if we're children, though," said her brother. "Could we plan the funeral, Mrs. Bruce? It will have to be done soon, won't it? My mother would want it to be nice."
    "I suppose we could," said Laura, who had never planned a funeral before. The idea of doing so now did not strike her as an appropriate consolation, but the Underhills seemed to have mastered their grief. "Have you any idea of the sort of service you want?"
    "We could bury them here on the farm," said Mark.
    His sister shook her head. "Not here, Mark. They might not care for that. It isn't as if we had lived here very long. We never lived anywhere very long, did we?"
    "Can you arrange to have their clothes taken away?" he asked.

    "I expect so," said Laura. There were women in the church that she could ask about this. Surely some local custom existed for such necessities of death. "Would you like the church to give the clothes to needy families?"
    "I'll be going back to the other side now, Mrs. Bruce," said LeDonne. "If you need anything . . ." His voice trailed off. No one was listening.
    LeDonne closed the family-room door firmly behind him, and went back to join the others. The Underhill siblings weren't behaving like any bereaved relatives he'd ever seen, but that didn't prove anything. The few murderers he had seen in county cases were usually hysterical, with some combination of remorse and fear that was difficult to distinguish from genuine bereavement. Guilty people couldn't afford to take things calmly. Except in 'Nam, where you