Читать книгу Bad Dad - Alice Shane - Страница 4

Lester’s wife, Margo, intuitively knew from the South Carolina area code and the Southern accent who the caller was. It was the wife of Lester’s estranged son, Danny.

“Is this the Fuller residence?” the woman queried in a slow, lazy drawl.

A Bible Belt redneck, Margo thought with distaste. “Who is this?” Her voice was brittle, edgy. She wasn’t going to give this stranger any reason to believe she was welcome.

“I’m Mary Lou Fuller – does that ring a bell?” the woman announced in sassy tones, the drawl ominous, threatening, as if challenging Margo. I dare you, I double dare you, a singsong mantra reminiscent of a childhood chant.

“Mary Lou Fuller? I don’t recognize the name. Are you sure you have the right telephone number?” Margo probed, intending to distance herself from this woman.

“I’m married to Danny Fuller.” I’m trying to reach his father, Lester Fuller. Does he live there? I found this number among his ex-wife’s papers. She died last January from diabetic shock. Did you know that?” the girl asked, the dare in her voice rising to a crescendo, or so it seemed to Margo who already dreaded what this call would portend.

She wasn’t obligated to tell this person anything, Margo decided, concealing her surprise that Lester’s ex was dead. Finally. Lester always said he wanted to pee on the bitch’s grave, although she knew he was too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.

“Why don’t you give me your telephone number and I’ll talk to my husband about this,” Margo suggested, scribbling the number on a small notepad, abruptly ending the conversation by saying that one of them would get back to her.

What was the real purpose of this call? Her heart raced, her mouth suddenly felt dry. She didn’t for a moment believe it was entirely about Gloria Fuller’s death. They must be after money. His son’s reappearance in Lester’s life could conceivably jeopardize her rights under their prenuptial agreement. In less than a year, their prenup would mature. Half of Lester’s wealth would accrue to her – unless something dreadful happened.

The very thought of friction developing between herself and Lester unleashed a wave of anxiety. She wondered if there was any Valium around the house. Lester’s doctor had prescribed it for occasional use when he was stressed out. God only knew she needed something to calm down! But, no. She didn’t like the idea of suppressing her feelings with drugs. She would go for a long jog. Or pump iron in the exercise room next to the library.

Margo studied her image in the ornately framed gilt-edged antique mirror that hung above the liquor cabinet, next to the tufted leather sofa where she sat in the library. She was visibly upset, pale. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was disheveled and looked stringy. It needed a combing.

It was 5:15 pm. Lester would be home in an hour or so. How would she find the words to break this news to him? Mary Lou Fuller’s call. The death of his ex-wife. The prospect of his estranged son reappearing in his life?

All of this was more than she could handle. And Lester. How was he going to react?

Margo toyed with the idea of not telling him about the call but thought better of it. Sooner or later, he would have to know.