There was an Old Woman Read Online Free PDF

potatoes, but I don’t have any.”
    â€œI could run across the street to the store,” I said, trying to be helpful.
    â€œIt’s not worth the trouble. What more do you want? A good roast and mixed veg? Did you check the roast like I asked?”
    â€œI was just going to.” I retreated to the kitchen, took a sip of my tea and opened the oven. The old aluminum roasting pan was covered. I removed the lid with a cloth and discovered the roast submerged under water. I stuck afork in it and lifted it to the surface. It looked cooked, but not strictly roasted.
    â€œLeave the lid off so it can brown,” I heard from the other room.
    â€œMa, it won’t brown under water!”
    â€œWater? What are you talking about?” In a moment she was peering into the roasting pan with me. “That’s not water, that’s gravy! You reduce it before serving.”
    â€œDo you mind if I reduce at least half of it into the sink?”
    â€œBenny! Always joking! Will you get out of my kitchen so I can cook dinner in peace?” I retreated to the couch and the Beacon, awaiting the arrival of my father, who got home no earlier than absolutely necessary.
    The Beacon carried a summary of the morning’s testimony in the Lizzy Oldridge inquest. I refreshed my memory reading it and caught up on the witnesses I hadn’t heard. The assistant manager of the bank couldn’t account for the failure of her boss, Clare Temperley, to appear as a witness. She knew for a fact that he was not planning to be away for the holidays. She read the rubric to the jury about what the arrangements were regarding access to Miss Oldridge’s safety deposit box. She said that once the agreements were signed, there was no way of altering the instructions without the further agreement of both parties. She recalled a heart-rending scene in which Kogan and the deceased tried to persuade the manager, Mr. Temperley, to breach the rules. She described how this upset the diminutive Mr. Temperley, who had toward off blows from Miss Oldridge’s umbrella. In the end, he had threatened to call the police if they didn’t leave the building. She admitted that the deceased looked under-nourished and neglected.
    A public health nurse testified that she had visited the home of the deceased on several occasions and reported finding the house indescribably filthy, that the deceased had refused to be examined by her and had heaped abusive language on top of the abusive smells emanating from every corner. She could find no sign of a working toilet in the house. I could see the hand of Victor Kogan here at least. The nurse said that she had discontinued her visits because there were no visible signs of sickness to be found.
    A building inspector testified that he had visited the house and described the same horrors of dirt and smell that the nurse had seen. He said that he did not deliver his list of items that needed to be fixed in order to bring the dwelling in line with the city’s minimum standards because he felt that the shock of it would, in his words, “send the old woman around the bend.” Nothing else was done.
    I heard my father come in. I looked up and he smiled at me, looking older and wearier than I’d seen him recently. “Were you at the club?” I asked.
    â€œI played a few hands. But those games are getting too rich for my blood. I can’t afford the stakes. They’re playing over a dollar a line.” I split the paper with him and we settled in reading until the call to dinner came.
    â€œI ran out of potatoes,” Ma explained as we sat down, “so you’ll have to make do with the mixed veg. I can make a salad if anyone wants one.”
    â€œSure,” I said and Pa nodded. Ma didn’t move.
    â€œPa, what do you know about Thurleigh Ramsden?”
    â€œNot while I’m eating, Benny. That man! The less you say about him, the