Picture Them Dead Read Free Page B

on this, but after this phone call, we might reconsider. What’s going on?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Jennifer said, the sharpness in her tone belying the words. “No, really, I am sorry,” she said with a long sigh. “Somehow word has gotten out and people are swarming Dad’s place, gawking. A few have left flowers by the grave.”
    â€œIsn’t the area cordoned off? I thought Josh was securing it against the weather when we left yesterday.”
    â€œHe did,” Jennifer said, “but it’s not like he posted an armed guard.”
    She loaded the last with enough sarcasm to make the phone heavy in my hand. I mentally auditioned several snappy comebacks, but decided to simply wait her out.
    â€œDad caught a couple of teenagers trying to peel back the tarps this morning. He ran them off, but people just keep coming. He can’t be expected to keep guard and I’m on duty today since Denny’s out of town.”
    â€œMaybe he could post some No Trespassing signs,” I suggested.
    Jennifer huffed. “Yeah, that’ll take care of it, Soph­reena,” she said. “Listen, Dad really wants you involved in this and that’s his call, but just do whatever it is you do as quick as you can, then step back, okay?”
    I pondered an appropriate reply, but “up your nose with a rubber hose” didn’t sound professional, and anyhow Jennifer had already hung up, leaving me listening to the drone of the dial tone.
    I turned to see Esme shaking her head and tsking. “I wish I knew what in this world we do to get that girl’s feathers ruffled all the time. I used to think she was just a bitter person, but I’ve asked around. She’s not like this with everybody, mostly just us. And I tell you, I’ve had about enough of it.”
    I waved a hand dismissively, though I’d been thinking the same thing myself. While she wasn’t universally liked, Jennifer had good friends who were loyal to her. And Denny thought well of her, too. Esme and I were both good people. Why didn’t she like us?
    A yoo-hoo came from the front hall and Marydale and Winston soon appeared in the kitchen doorway.
    â€œToo late,” Winston said, glancing at our plates. “I brought you apple fritters for breakfast, Sophreena, but we got a late start this morning. Marydale’s been on the phone with her kids and me with mine trying to line up all our ducks for gettin’-hitched day. I’m beginning to think we should have just run off and tied the knot.”
    â€œNonsense,” Marydale said. “I want all our kids and grandkids there and all our friends, too. You don’t want to share our happy day?”
    â€œI do,” Winston said, laughing. “And see how easy those two words come off my tongue? I’m just ready to say ’em and make it official, that’s all.”
    Winston is a retired baker who can’t seem to kick the habit and he’s always bringing us fresh baked goodies. The aroma of those apple fritters was making me salivate and I quickly abandoned my half-eaten bowl of oatmeal.
    â€œI hear you’ve been holding out on us,” Marydale said, sliding into the extra kitchen chair.
    â€œAbout?” Esme said.
    â€œThe glass coffin!” Marydale said. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”
    â€œHow did you hear about that already?” Esme asked.
    â€œWord’s all over town,” Winston said, whipping out the kitchen stepladder we keep by the refrigerator to serve as his perch.
    I heard the front door open again and knew instantly who’d be joining us. Colette Newsome, Coco to us, was a walking wind chime; the jangle of her many bracelets, anklets, and necklaces announced her arrival.
    â€œSeriously, a glass coffin?” she said as she swept through the kitchen doorway, her gauzy skirt flaring as she went straight for the coffeemaker.
    â€œTold you it was all over