When Will the Dead Lady Sing? Read Online Free PDF Page A

signed warrants that were set before me, held probable-cause hearings and bond hearings, and presided over such courts as were required of me, I could skip politics. After all, I didn’t seek the appointment. If they took it away from me, it wouldn’t block my sunshine. But Joe Riddley was bound and determined I’d at least show my face at political events from time to time. It was one of the ongoing dissonant chords in the harmony of our marriage.
    My stomach went down a long sliding board. It was highly unlikely that two politicians would be in Hopemore this one weekend. “It will serve you right if she serves nothing but tuna-fish sandwiches and watery punch.”
    The coward hid behind his paper to avoid my glare.“You still need to go. Besides, you’ve been wanting to see what Maynard has done to the place.”
    I did want to see the place. Gusta’s former house was one of three antebellum houses in Hopemore that Sherman didn’t burn. Her best friend and rival for Hopemore’s throne was Winifred “Pooh” DuBose, who lived two doors down, in a fine Victorian. The previous winter, Pooh had begun to show increasing signs of dementia and Gusta’s granddaughter got married, so Gusta moved in with Pooh. Maynard Spence, curator of the Hope County Historical Museum, bought Gusta’s place and turned it into an antique store—yielding to Gusta’s request that he call it Wainwright House Antiques. He’d have called it Augusta’s Antiques for her, he wanted it so badly.
    Maynard got married about that same time, so his daddy—our closest neighbor—moved out of their old homeplace and in with Pooh and Gusta. The three of them had calculated they could pay Pooh’s cook and yardman and Gusta’s housekeeper and still come out a good bit cheaper than if they all went into retirement homes. Not that they needed to be frugal. The two women each had more money than a third-world country, and Hubert had done well with Spence’s Appliances over the years. Still, none of them had gotten rich spending money.
    “It will serve you right if I see something real expensive at Maynard’s I can’t live without,” I warned as I headed to brush my teeth and fetch my pocketbook.
     
    I wish I could tell you I went to work and didn’t give Burlin Bullock another thought. However, I’d long ago discovered that lying generates more complications than it solves. All day long, I found myself sitting at my desk, staring into space, muttering things to myself like, “How could you be so dumb?” and “Is there any way to leave town for a few days?”
    I was sorry I had to meet Martha at the track. Martha notices other people—really notices them. Sure enough, about the time we had walked a quarter of the way around, just as I was fixing to announce I was happy with the way I looked and ready to give up walking, she asked, “What’s buggin’ you?”
    I gave an airy wave. “Oh, nothing. Taxes, stuff like that.”
    “Seriously, what’s wrong? Is Pop having memory trouble again?”
    Joe Riddley had made a remarkable recovery from getting shot, but he tended to be a bit forgetful at times and his temper wasn’t as dependable as it used to be. I was tempted to say “Yes” and let it go at that, but my conscience kicked in. Besides, Martha has had all sorts of training in counsel ing. I found myself admitting, “He’s fine. But I’ve got a little problem. You know that Joe Riddley and I have been together all our lives.”
    “Since your daddy took you to his daddy’s hardware store when you were—what? four? And he was six?” I nodded. “And Joe Riddley swaggered over, hitched up his brown corduroy britches, and asked, ‘You wanna go count nails?’ You’ve been counting nails ever since.”
    “Yeah. But what you don’t know”—I had to feel my way. Confession comes hard to Presbyterians—“is that I once also dated somebody else.”
    That cut off her water. She didn’t say a word.
    “Now he’s come to town,