Blanche on the Lam: A Blanche White Mystery Read Free

go.” Her mother's voice was so clear in Blanche's head they might have been standing face to face. The “next time” her mother had warned her against was equally present. Blanche rubbed her upper arms and shivered. Somewhere nearby a mourning dove seconded her growing despair.

TWO

    “T here you are!”
    Blanche whirled around. The left half of a woman's face with one large, gray-blue eye was peering out at her from an opening in the fence.
    “At least you could have phoned to say you'd be late! I've been trying to get your agency on the phone for hours. But I knew that if you came at all, you'd come to this gate! I just knew it!” Triumph struggled with peevishness for control of the woman's voice.
    “That agency always sends you people to this gate, even though I've told them repeatedly not to do so.” She raised her arms above her head and tugged at the high gate. The bottom of her apple-green blouse crept out of the waistband of her skirt. A bit of beige silk slip hung from beneath the hem.
    “Well, don't just stand there! We want to leave immediately after lunch.” The woman stood back from the gate and motioned Blanche inside.
    “Where's your bag?” The woman's pale eyes made contact with Blanche's dark ones for half a second. The woman's face was older than her light, breathy voice. Not-so-small wrinkles branched out from her eyes and down her cheeks. Wavy lines creased her forehead, and the skin around her mouth was beginning to pucker. Her sharp-featured face with its wide-set eyes and high, sloping forehead reminded Blanche of the pet ferret her Uncle Willie used to keep for hunting rabbits. Cropped blond hair accentuated the point of her chin and her rather long neck.She was a few inches shorter than Blanche's five foot seven and looked anywhere from thirty-five to fifty. Whatever her age, she was in better shape than Blanche, flat-bellied and wiry. She held herself very straight but relaxed, in the way of women who have been schooled in posture.
    “Never mind,” she added, saving Blanche from having to think up an excuse for not having a suitcase. “You can take care of that tomorrow. You're about Bernice's size. She always leaves a spare uniform at the country house. You'll just have to wear your street clothes until we get there.” She gave Blanche a somewhat pained look before continuing along the cobblestone path.
    Blanche was reminded of old lady Ivy, out on Long Island. She couldn't stand to see the help in regular clothes, either. Might mistake them for human beings. Blanche chopped down her usually wide stride to match the pace of the woman in front of her. A stone could walk faster, Blanche tsked to herself.
    “Cook left a cold lunch.” The woman turned her head toward Blanche. “You need only set up a buffet in the dining room. We'll serve ourselves. We'll lunch early. I want to leave for the country as soon as possible.” She took a deep breath. “Of course, there's the washing up to be done.
    “Darn it!” The woman lurched forward as though she'd tripped over some unseen obstacle. She recovered herself and continued walking and talking as though nothing had happened.
    Blanche thought of her Aunt Sarah. Blanche had actually seen Aunt Sarah continue to expound on the best way to smoke a turkey while sitting in a sea of oranges she'd knocked from a bin at the supermarket after stumbling over nothing anyone could see. Aunt Sarah had continued her turkey-smoking instructions even while Blanche and one of the bag boys were hoisting her to her feet.
    “There is no other help in the house, just now.” The woman raised her pink-nailed hand as if to ward off some protest or question from Blanche.
    “Of course, you'll be getting the meals and seeing to the house in the country,” the woman told her.
    Blanche wondered if rich girls took classes in how to impose on the help by making an impossible workload sound like a breeze.
    “It is aired and ready for us, however. And we're very