Читать книгу The Poisoned Pen - E. Joan Sims - Страница 9

Chapter Seven

I waved farewell to Horatio in the parking lot of the Dairy Queen and scooted over to take my place behind the wheel for a cautious drive home.

“Have fun, Mom?” asked Cassie, as I plopped down beside her on the front porch swing. “Enjoy your weekly self-indulgent intake of fat grams and calories?”

“I think I’m gonna puke again,” I admitted, and told her about Horatio’s wild ride through the hills. “And the most unbelievable thing of all was the way he enjoyed it so! I’d be willing to swear he winked at me when he said goodbye.”

“Wow!” was her reply. “Is he great, or what? Where are all the young Horatios hiding these days?”

“I honestly don’t think they’re making them like that any more,” I sighed.

The white wicker swing creaked pleasantly as we relaxed against the green and pink-checked cushions to enjoy the sweet afternoon breeze. It was still too early in June to get really hot, and the temperature was hovering in the comfortable mid-seventies.

I was pleased to see that the front yard had almost recovered from the aftermath of last year’s tornado. The grass was as green and thick as ever. The surviving lilacs were blooming like crazy, and three small dogwoods and all the evergreen shrubs around the house were thriving. And to prove that all was well, several pairs of fat, red-breasted robins had returned with the spring and found ample spots for nest building.

“Nice, huh?”

“Umm,” Cassie agreed in a lazy voice.

“We should sit out here more often.”

“Umm.”

“The birds are almost as much fun to watch as the bunnies.”

“Umm.”

I got up and lifted her feet into the swing. “Take a nap, Toots. I want to ask Mother a couple of questions.”

“Good luck,” murmured Cassie sleepily. “She’s nose deep in that crazy book.”

I opened the front door and almost stumbled over Aggie as she bounded out and jumped up in the swing with Cassie. I smiled fondly at the two of them as I turned to enter the house.

The front hall was dark after the sunshine outside and I bumped my knee painfully against an open drawer of the hall table that stood just inside the door.

“Damn!”

I closed the drawer with more force than necessary and limped my way through the house. Mother was curled up on her favorite chaise lounge on the back porch with Bethlehem Davis’s manuscript on her lap—and a large magnifying glass in her hand. The magnifying glass was usually found in the drawer of the table in the hall.

“You left the drawer open,” I groused.

“Sorry, dear,” she replied absently.

“Book good?”

“Umm.”

I abandoned my mission to question Mother about Nell Jane Bradley’s family history and went to the library to work on Leonard’s own manuscript. This one was about international jewel thieves and diamond smugglers. I had just decided the book needed a wild ride or two through the crowded streets of Manhattan to spice it up. After this afternoon, I felt like I could do it justice; but just when I had Leonard on Forty-second Street in his souped up vintage Mustang, the Dairy Queen carbohydrates caught up with me. I stumbled over to one of the big red chintz-covered sofas in front of the fireplace, kicked off my shoes, and flopped down for a snooze.

“Very funny, Paisley. A little sophomoric, but amusing just the same. Now give me back the book.”

“Ummph, wh…what?” I struggled up from the depths of a slightly erotic dream starring me and Pierce Brosnan to find my mother standing over me with stern, angry, disapproval written all over her face.

“The book, dear. Give me back the book,” she demanded insistently. “It was just getting interesting.”

“What book? I don’t have any book. Beth’s book?”

“Yes, of course, Beth’s book. I dozed off for just a moment and when I opened my eyes it was gone. Cassie’s sound asleep in the front porch swing with Aggie so it must have been you who took it. Give it back now, please.”

I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and wiped the drool off my chin. Mother had both fists planted firmly on her trim waist and was actually tapping one foot impatiently on the Oriental rug. She looked mad and slightly ruffled—something that didn’t happen often. I laughed.

“Paisley Sterling! What has gotten into you?” she snapped.

“I don’t have Beth’s book, Mother,” I sighed, ending with a chuckle. “But whoever took it did me a favor. If it’s really missing, I don’t have to keep my promise to read it.”

“Maybe, Cassie…” she began, a worried frown line only slightly creasing her smooth brow.

“Maybe, Cassie what?” asked my daughter from the doorway. She stretched her slim arms over her head and yawned, then crossed over to open the French doors so Aggie could take a run in the back yard. “What?” she repeated, as she turned and looked at us quizzically.

“Someone is playing a silly juvenile joke,” observed Mother. “Only it’s not very funny.”

“Let me in on it,” suggested Cassie. “I’ll decide for myself if it’s funny or not.”

“Beth’s book disappeared while Gran was asleep on the back porch.”

“You think somebody broke into the house?”

Mother stared at her in amazement. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. What do you think, Paisley?”

“Impossible!” interrupted my daughter. “Aggie didn’t move a muscle. She would have barked if someone had tried to get in.”

“Hah! The only thing that dog is good for is to make sure I keep my tetanus shots up to date.”

“She only bit you three times, Mom!”

“Three times is right!” I retorted. “Just listen to yourself and imagine anyone else saying, ‘my dog only bit my mom three times,’ and see how stupid it sounds.”

“Girls! Girls! Behave yourselves.”

“We are not ‘girls,’ Gran. We are women,” pontificated Cassie.

“Cassie’s right, Mother. And you started this whole mess. I bet the manuscript pages slid off your lap while you were asleep. They’re probably all in a heap under the chaise. You messed up the best dream I’ve had in months for nothing. It’s not often that Pierce and I….”

“Who?” asked Mother with raised eyebrows.

“Never mind,” I grumbled, as I stomped barefoot through the house, stubbing my toe painfully on a chair leg in the kitchen.

I got down on my hands and knees and peered under every table and chair on the back porch, but I didn’t find even as much as a chewing gum wrapper.

“See!” demanded Mother righteously. “It’s not here.”

“You must have taken it inside and forgotten where you put it, Mother. Nobody came in here. The screen door is still hooked.”

“She’s right, Gran,” said Cassie, as she crossed over to the door to let Aggie inside. “Hey, wait! Look at this! Somebody’s slit the screen right at the edge of the door frame. The hole’s just big enough to slip in a hand and unhook the door.”

“And then take the time to hook it back?” I laughed. “Come on! What kind of joker would do a thing like that?”

“The kind who would think Miss Davis’s book was worth stealing, I guess,” answered Cassie.

“Yeah? What’s up with that?” I chuckled, as I eased down into Mother’s favorite chaise while she wasn’t looking. I lay back in the cushions wondering if I could tempt Pierce into another dreamland rendezvous.

“Maybe the thief needed a doorstop,” suggested Cassie, with a barely suppressed giggle.

“Or a….” I began.

“Stop it, you two,” interrupted Mother. “You are being unkind—and quite without reason. Neither of you knows anything about the quality of Bethlehem’s literary efforts.”

“Okay, Mother. I’ll buy into that,” I allowed. “Just how good was Beth’s book?”

“Yes, Gran. What was it about?” asked Cassie, moving my feet aside to sit on the end of the chaise.

“I had not arrived at the, er, plot, just yet; but I think it could have been quite interesting. She had a few too many words in each sentence, perhaps…Paisley, that smirk is quite unattractive.”

“Go on, Gran,” urged Cassie.

“Well, the characters really held my attention, especially since some of them seemed very familiar.”

I had closed my eyes, trying to conjure up a mental image of broad shoulders and a handsome, all-knowing smile; but something Mother said penetrated my daydream.

“Familiar? How so?”

“I’m not positive, you understand, and I didn’t get a chance to read very much; but I thought I recognized several people by her rather thinly veiled descriptions. And some of them, most of them as a matter-of-fact, were not very flattering portraits.”

I sat up next to Cassie, all thoughts of dark, good-looking men forgotten. “You mean this was a ‘tell all’ book? My God! Maybe that’s why it was flicked!” I jumped up and slapped my leg in excitement. Aggie raised her head from the cool flagstone floor and growled. “The sneaky little twit was probably privy to all sorts of juicy information she would never be allowed to publish in a small town newspaper –a newspaper whose income depends on advertisements from the local bigwigs she has the dirt on; but a racy novel about those same characters with fake names and a mustache or two…Wow!”

“That’s motive enough for someone to steal the book, all right,” breathed Cassie.

“Yes, my girl!” I laughed. “Now I’m sorry I didn’t take first dibs on the book myself. There are quite a few people in Rowan Springs I would like to see roasted slowly over the coals. I wonder if Beth has another copy.”

“Perhaps you had better call on her and explain what has happened, Paisley. If she doesn’t have a copy, she’ll be quit distraught and will need a friendly shoulder to cry on.”

“Oh, great! You lose the book and I become the bearer of ill tidings—and the owner of the damp shoulder. How come you can’t go instead?”

“She needs a fellow writer—someone sympathetic who will understand her loss,” explained Mother stiffly.

“Good grief!”

“Come on, Mom. Quit being a baby. I’ll go with. After all, Miss Davis may not believe you, but I can back you up.”