A Misty Mourning by Rett MacPherson Read Free Book Online

make sure that it was still plastered in place on top of his head. “Certainly,” he said. “I’ll try.”
    It was quiet, suddenly. All three of Clarissa’s children— Lafayette, Maribelle, and Edwin—tried very hard to stare at me without obviously staring at me. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and finally got up and stretched.
    â€œWell,” I said. “I don’t know what to make of this. I honestly had no idea that this would happen or that my great-grandmother had ever done anything important enough to warrant such devotion from your mother.”
    â€œPreston was right,” Maribelle said. It wasn’t particularly vicious or ugly the way she said it. She was simply stating a fact.
    Slowly, they all got up and left the room, leaving Mr. Jett sitting on the couch to ponder the silence in the great room with me. I walked over and looked out the window for the fifteenth time since six o’clock this morning. The water had started to recede, although not fast enough in my opinion. I wanted to be able to leave this place in a hurry if need be.
    â€œYou know,” I said finally. I walked over to the fireplace and looked up at the large picture that hung on the wall. “I most likely will not keep the boardinghouse. I’ve no need for it. It doesn’t exactly turn a profit, and I’m three states west of here and unable to really take care of it.”
    â€œYou might want to wait a few months or so before making thatsort of rash decision,” Mr. Jett said. He picked up his briefcase and put the copy of the will inside. “This is an opportunity that has been handed down to you. Even if you just sell it outright. You have children. It’s not worth a fortune, but you could start a college fund for them.”
    I thought about it a moment as I studied the photograph closely. It was a morbid photograph of a funeral. In the middle of it was a casket, with the lid open and the dead body inside, stiff and pasty-looking. Twenty people surrounded the casket, all looking rather unconcerned. Nobody was partying exactly, but nobody looked all that sad, either, in my opinion.
    I’d seen this sort of thing before, especially in Appalachia. One photograph I remember in particular showed the body of Devil Anse Hatfield in his casket. Hatfield of the infamous Hatfields and McCoys.
    â€œStill,” I said, looking to Mr. Jett. “I doubt seriously I’ll keep it. I don’t feel right about it.”
    â€œContact your lawyer,” he said. With that he turned and left the room. It was about two hours before dinnertime and I was starving. I’d just been left a boardinghouse, ten acres, and twenty rooms full of furniture and stuff, and all I could think about was food. Well, that and how much I wished the local sheriff would get here.

Seven
    I t sounded as though Danette Faragher was trying to wake the dead. I walked past her room on the first floor on my way to speak with Sherise Tyler. I thought if anybody knew any good gossip on the place it would be Ms. Tyler, providing, of course, that she was a local journalist. Instead of going on to Ms. Tyler’s room, however, I backed up and knocked on Danette’s door. She, of course, didn’t answer, since she probably couldn’t hear me. I knocked louder.
    Finally the door opened with an even louder rush of music. Danette looked fairly surprised to see me. She did not invite me in.
    â€œMay I come in?” I asked.
    Danette shrugged her shoulders and opened the door the rest of the way so I could enter. She flopped on the bed and reached over with one long, incredibly skinny arm and turned off the music. I got the impression that this must have been Danette’s room when she came to visit, because there were a few posters on the wall, Limp Bizkit, Korn, and a few other teenage celebrities that I recognized. Not to mention the CD player and a dresser that had quite a few personal