Who'll Kill Agnes? Read Online Free PDF Page A

Henley was one of our most prominent citizens,” said Metson.
    “She is, but ain’t you forgetting something?”
    “What?”
    “Who her daughter-in-law is.”
    “Oh lord-a-mighty!” exclaimed Metson. “How could I forget that? And us just a minute ago talking about her daddy.”
    “Exactly. Miz Henley gives the appearance of being a kind, generous southern lady, always helping out with charities and such. But how did she really feel about Kevin marrying a Tucker? On the surface she seems to have handled the marriage graciously.”
    “Yeah, it has been kind of hush-hush, hasn’t it?”
    “And look at the rest of the household,” continued Donovan.
    “What do you mean?”
    “They’re all adults.”
    “So?”
    “Under one roof you got Miz Agnes and Lester and their son with a socially unacceptable wife. Then there’s Miz Agnes’ sister and that lady companion.”
    “What’s wrong with all that except, of course, for Miz Bernadette?”
    “They don’t do nothing.”
    “You aren’t making sense, Chief. What are they supposed to do?”
    “Look at it this way. Miz Henley is the one with the fortune, her aunt’s inheritance, yet she’s the only one that works.”
    “Yeah, and she doesn’t have to. I get your drift now. So you think the rest sponge off her?”
    “Sort of looks that way, but yet Miz Henley used to always brag what a wonderful family she had. But that was before Miz Bernadette joined the family. It makes you wonder. What really goes on in that house?”
    “Maybe they’re kind of like that old TV show Dallas that my mama used to watch. All those grownups having breakfast with Miss Ellie and Jock, J.R., Sue-Ellen, Bobby, Pam.”
    “Yeah,” laughed Donovan, “and they sure didn’t get along. Well, if we ever do get called over to the Henley House, let’s hope we get offered some of those fancy oar-doves that you were wanting.”
    “Hey! I just thought of something. Their horse-doors-uh-doves couldn’t be too fancy.”
    “Why not? They probably got the fanciest food in town considering the kind of job Miz Henley has.”
    “Not from what I’ve heard,” said Metson. “I’ve heard tell that Miz Henley has hired Mark Robeson to be her cook or, rather, chef.”
    “What the hell! Why on earth would she do that? What kind of food would he cook up?”
    “Well, his dad runs The Cracked Cup Diner.”
    “That’s what I mean. Why would Miz Henley want down-home cooking? I mean, it’s damn good, but rich folks eat different.”
    “Because, according to the scuttlebutt,” explained Metson, “she thinks Mark is French.”
    “Daryl, you need to stop listening to scuttlebutt. That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. If there’s one thing in this world that Miz Agnes Henley knows, it’s fancy food. She’s one mighty knowledgeable lady and she’d know Mark wasn’t French.” He paused for a few seconds then said, “But if it’s true, then that’s another adult under that roof.”
    “Yeah, but at least Mark’s working.”
    “Maybe. Ah well, I’m sure we’ll never have the occasion or privilege of being served his oar-doves.”
    “I doubt he’d even know what they are.”
    They drove on down the pleasant, quiet street, each immersed in thoughts of living among richness and splendor. Donovan silently wondered if Metson even knew what an “oar-dove” was. The boy was unusually silent sometimes when he tried to insert a bit of culture into their conversation. He wondered what kind of wife he’d end up with. The kid was twenty-seven years old now and if he was going to stay in law enforcement he needed to settle down and present the right image to the community.
    Then he remembered May Belle’s admonition about letting Metson live his own life. Well, he was doing that but he sure wished the boy would get on the ball romance-wise.
    He finished his cheeseburger and threw his napkin into the sack it came in, a sack decorated with the logo of a cracked cup.
     
     

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