Dead Man Docking Read Free

table.
    â€œLet’s go out to your apartment,” Judith said, “so I can help you look through those parcels.”
    â€œYou can toss ’em in the Dumpster for all I care,” Gertrude responded.
    â€œMaybe I will,” Judith fibbed. But first she’d like to see what was inside the overnight envelopes.
    â€œYou could make my lunch,” Gertrude said. “It’s going on noon.”
    â€œSo I could.” It’d save Judith a trip to the toolshed.
    She had started making a BLT for her mother when Joe finally managed to lure the L.A. couple out of the dining room. While the bacon was frying, Judith began clearing the solid oak table that had belonged to her grandparents.
    â€œBlowhards,” Joe murmured, standing in the doorway to the entry hall. “Do I care how they stuffed their dik-diks?”
    â€œProbably not,” Judith whispered. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
    â€œDoing my homework on that arson trial,” he replied. “It looks as if I’ll have to testify.”
    â€œThat’s a pain,” Judith said. “When does it start?”
    Joe was moving into the entry hall, headed for the front stairs. Apparently, he was avoiding his mother-in-law by not taking his usual backstairs route. “Monday, the twenty-fourth. I don’t have much time to prepare. I’ve got that high-profile divorce surveillance gig this week.”
    â€œGood luck,” Judith said as Joe started up the carpeted steps. Sometimes it seemed that her husband was busier as a private detective than he had been while he was on the police force. But usually he enjoyed his work, and it paid well. Considering the current dearth of B&B reservations, the Flynns could use the money.
    â€œBacon’s burning,” Gertrude announced as Judith returned to the kitchen.
    â€œOh, dear!” Judith pulled the frying pan off the burner.
    â€œI like it that way,” her mother asserted. “You know that. And I like my toast burned, too. It makes my hair curly.”
    â€œA permanent makes your hair curly,” Judith said, turning on the exhaust fan to clear the smoke. “You used to tell me those old wives’ tales when I was a kid.”
    â€œSo?” Gertrude shrugged. “Plenty of mayo, remember?”
    â€œAnd butter,” Judith added. Her mother’s cholesterol wasoff the charts, but it didn’t seem to affect the old girl’s health.
    Five minutes later, they were in the toolshed. Sweetums had joined them, curling up on Gertrude’s small couch. Judith settled her mother into the armchair and put her meal on the cluttered card table.
    Four express packages were in a pile behind the chair. The contents of the latest, however, were spread out on the card table. Gertrude set her BLT on top of the revised script and adjusted her dentures.
    Cautiously, Judith bent down to collect the unopened parcels. “I’ll leave the one you’re reading here and take the rest,” she said, noting that they were all about the same size and felt like the previous scripts she’d seen. “Here’s your magnifying glass. It was under the packages.”
    â€œOh. Then you can have yours back.” Gertrude picked up half of the sandwich, ignoring the mayo, butter, grease, and tomato stains she’d left on the script. Sweetums jumped off the couch, yawned, and leaped onto the card table, staring at the BLT with covetous yellow eyes. “Better feed him before you go,” the old lady said. “Otherwise, that cat and I’ll end up in a scratching match.”
    â€œHe has food in his dish here, food inside the house, and food on the back porch,” Judith said, retrieving her magnifying glass and heading for the door.
    â€œHe likes bacon,” Gertrude declared.
    Judith didn’t argue. She had laundry to do and beds to make and carpets to vacuum. Phyliss didn’t work weekends. The