A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) Read Free Page A
Author: Judith K. Ivie
Ads: Link
questioned, filling Margo’s mug and then my own. I pointed at the dog treats and raised an eyebrow. Margo shook her head, and we carried our coffee down three steps to the MACK Realty office off the lobby at the rear of the Law Barn. I sat at the desk, and Margo arranged herself on the comfortable sofa and fired up her laptop. Rhett flopped at her feet, sighed once, and fell instantly asleep. He wasn’t as young as he once was, and he needed his naps so that he could keep a properly watchful eye on the back yard when Margo took him out to his spacious pen.
“I saw her checkin ’ the phone messages earlier,” she said now, squinting a little as she scrolled through her emails. She resisted wearing her stylish computer glasses, even though I had pointed out the little frown line forming between her exquisitely groomed eyebrows. “There was one from Ada Henstock —you know, one of those darlin ’ little ol ’ gals who live over on the Broad Street Green. She wanted our advice on somethin ’ to do with that enormous house she and her sister own near the Anderson Farm … the French Second Empire with the mansard roof.”
Known locally as The Henstock Girls at the age of eighty plus, the Misses Ada and Lavinia Henstock were fixtures in Old Wethersfield. The story went that although both sisters had been quite appealing in their youth, they were spinsters by choice. They had spurned the advances of many a prospective suitor upon the advice of their dear papa, who had never felt that any of the local gents were quite good enough for his little girls.
The Honorable Reuben Henstock , Esq., widowed shortly after his second daughter was born, had been a tartar of a man who had first served in the Connecticut State Legislature, then been appointed to the bench. He had never remarried, leaving the day-to-day care of his children to a succession of housekeepers, and had presided over trials right up until the day of his death in the late 1960s, when he had gaveled the day’s court business to a close and collapsed untidily across his bench.
Since then, the sisters, who were known for their ability to stretch a dollar, had shared their home with a scrawny cat or two, but men seeking their company had been unilaterally turned away.
“Huh!” Emma and I just walked right by that house. What kind of advice?”
“Frankly, we couldn’t make much sense of Ada ’s message. You know how reserved she is, how reserved they both are, when they aren’t finishin ’ each other’s sentences, but Ada was practically pleadin ’ for one of us to come by and let her know how somethin ’ or other might affect the value of their property. She seemed real upset, and you know how tenderhearted Strutter is. She picked up her purse and ran right on over there to put Miss Ada’s mind at ease.”
I couldn’t help smiling as I imagined Strutter walking her distinctive walk up to the front door of the Henstock house and lifting the big brass knocker. The ladies would be peeking from behind the lace curtains at one or the other of the big front windows. They knew Margo and me by sight, since we had sold a house in that neighborhood while Strutter and John were on their honeymoon, but what they would make of Strutter was anybody’s guess. It was safe to say that the elderly sisters’ experience of black women had been limited to peremptory exchanges with their dear papa’s kitchen help when they were growing up. What they would make of a stylishly clad black businesswoman rapping on their front door, I could not think.
“Well, this has been some Thursday morning so far. I saw the baby swans about an hour ago. They look rather like vultures at this stage, did you know that? Emma is taking off this afternoon for six weeks in Boston, and I’m not at all sure how I feel about that. Some religious fanatic seems to have taken exception to the way we conduct our personal lives, and the Henstock girls are having the vapors. Anything else?” I
“I saw her checkin ’ the phone messages earlier,” she said now, squinting a little as she scrolled through her emails. She resisted wearing her stylish computer glasses, even though I had pointed out the little frown line forming between her exquisitely groomed eyebrows. “There was one from Ada Henstock —you know, one of those darlin ’ little ol ’ gals who live over on the Broad Street Green. She wanted our advice on somethin ’ to do with that enormous house she and her sister own near the Anderson Farm … the French Second Empire with the mansard roof.”
Known locally as The Henstock Girls at the age of eighty plus, the Misses Ada and Lavinia Henstock were fixtures in Old Wethersfield. The story went that although both sisters had been quite appealing in their youth, they were spinsters by choice. They had spurned the advances of many a prospective suitor upon the advice of their dear papa, who had never felt that any of the local gents were quite good enough for his little girls.
The Honorable Reuben Henstock , Esq., widowed shortly after his second daughter was born, had been a tartar of a man who had first served in the Connecticut State Legislature, then been appointed to the bench. He had never remarried, leaving the day-to-day care of his children to a succession of housekeepers, and had presided over trials right up until the day of his death in the late 1960s, when he had gaveled the day’s court business to a close and collapsed untidily across his bench.
Since then, the sisters, who were known for their ability to stretch a dollar, had shared their home with a scrawny cat or two, but men seeking their company had been unilaterally turned away.
“Huh!” Emma and I just walked right by that house. What kind of advice?”
“Frankly, we couldn’t make much sense of Ada ’s message. You know how reserved she is, how reserved they both are, when they aren’t finishin ’ each other’s sentences, but Ada was practically pleadin ’ for one of us to come by and let her know how somethin ’ or other might affect the value of their property. She seemed real upset, and you know how tenderhearted Strutter is. She picked up her purse and ran right on over there to put Miss Ada’s mind at ease.”
I couldn’t help smiling as I imagined Strutter walking her distinctive walk up to the front door of the Henstock house and lifting the big brass knocker. The ladies would be peeking from behind the lace curtains at one or the other of the big front windows. They knew Margo and me by sight, since we had sold a house in that neighborhood while Strutter and John were on their honeymoon, but what they would make of Strutter was anybody’s guess. It was safe to say that the elderly sisters’ experience of black women had been limited to peremptory exchanges with their dear papa’s kitchen help when they were growing up. What they would make of a stylishly clad black businesswoman rapping on their front door, I could not think.
“Well, this has been some Thursday morning so far. I saw the baby swans about an hour ago. They look rather like vultures at this stage, did you know that? Emma is taking off this afternoon for six weeks in Boston, and I’m not at all sure how I feel about that. Some religious fanatic seems to have taken exception to the way we conduct our personal lives, and the Henstock girls are having the vapors. Anything else?” I