House of Blues Read Free Page A

walked in right now.
    "How have you been, Sugar?"
    " Just fine. How've you been? And Mrs. Foucher?"
    " Oh, as fine as frog hair, Sugar. We are doing
splendidly. Indeed we are."
    Why couldn't he talk like a normal person? Hadn't he
ever heard of contractions? Sugar was about to ask him if she could
take a message, but he said, "We heard Hebert's was awarded the
concession for the casino restaurant."
    " Yes, we got it."
    "Well, congratulations on that. We are very very
proud of you."
    Sugar fought to keep her snobbery under control. A
part of her knew that Milton Foucher was a polite (if pretentious)
man who'd had too many children too late in life and that he had
suffered a lot—mostly due to his youngest, Dennis.
    Another part of her didn't want to admit she was
related to him, even by marriage.
    "Thanks a lot, Mr. Foucher; I appreciate that.
Could I—"
    " We were so happy for you when we heard about
it. That is a very important plum for you."
    "It's going to keep us all pretty busy, I
expect."
    "I only wish Dennis had gone into that
business"—his voice was full of regret—"but what can
you do with youngsters? You have to let them do what they want to
do—there's no help for it, is there?"
    "There sure isn't." She hoped her voice
didn't betray the bitterness she felt.
    "Well, I had better not keep you. I have some
sad news for Dennis."
    " I'm afraid he isn't here right now. Could I
give him a message?"
    "Well, if you would, please. Tell him Justin is
not expected to live out the week."
    Sugar searched her memory. Was Justin a relative?
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.
    "This thing is a terrible waste." Sugar
could almost see him shaking his head. "A terrible, terrible
waste."
    " I'll be sure and tell him."
    Hanging up, she looked at her watch and hurried to
get the overalls. She'd been gone nearly twenty minutes, and it would
take her ten more to get back if she hurried instead of getting into
conversations and peering into everyone's garden. She hoped they
wouldn't still be yelling when she got there.
    She raised a hand to set the alarm, but couldn't
remember the combination, punched out with such dispatch when she
came in. Now her mind was a blank. She had to sit down and focus till
it came to her.
    She walked briskly back, but when she saw a pair of
teenage kids with reversed baseball caps coming down the street, she
crossed and circled a block that wasn't on the way. She'd probably
lost five minutes, with one thing and another. She was starting to
feel guilty.
    She picked up her pace.
    Finally, arriving slightly out of breath, she
remembered she hadn't brought her purse, had simply picked up Reed's
key and hurried out.
    Feeling silly, she rang her own doorbell and waited.
It was probably a full two minutes before she realized no one was
coming. Glancing around for Reed's car, she didn't notice it at
first, wondered if Dennis and Reed had gotten so mad they'd stalked
out. But in that case why hadn't they come home?
    She marched to the side of the house and turned over
the rock under which she kept an extra key. Letting herself in, she
felt for the first time a slight sense of foreboding; the lock didn't
give at first, not until she'd turned the key a few times. Could it
be the door hadn't been locked? Had she unwittingly locked it
herself, then had to fiddle to unlock it?
    " Arthur?" she called. Getting no answer,
she turned from the hall into the dining room, where her family
should have been. Instead there was blood.
    Red on the cream walls, splashed as if a kid had
filled a balloon with blood and fanned his arm in a great and joyous
arc to empty it. But it was as if he'd done it sitting on the floor.
The blood was low on the wall, and above the splashes, there was a
bloody handprint. Blood was also pooled on the floor.
    Blood. Like something in a movie. Or on television;
an event in someone else's life.
    The heavy mahogany table had been upended. China,
silver, and beans had spilled every which way, and chairs