Ain't She Sweet? by Susan Elizabeth Phillips Read Free Book Online Page B

important to preserve this old ruin? But her aunt had been obsessed with local history, the same as Sugar Beth’s father, and apparently she hadn’t seen the wisdom of bulldozing the place.
    As Sugar Beth got out of the car, she thought of the letter lying crumpled in the bottom of her purse:
    Dear Sugar Beth,
    I’m leaving you the carriage house, the depot, and, of course, the painting because you’re my only living relative and, regardless of your behavior, blood is thicker than water. The depot is a disgrace, but, by the time I purchased it, I lacked the energy and the funds for repairs. The fact that it was allowed to deteriorate so badly does not speak well of this town. I’m certain you’d like to sell it, but I doubt you’ll have any luck finding a buyer. Even the Parrish Community Advancement Association lacks proper respect for history.
    The carriage house is a registered national landmark. Keep Lincoln’s studio as it is.
    Otherwise, everything goes to the University. As for the painting . . . You’ll either find it or you won’t.
    Cordially,
    Tallulah Shelborne Carey
    P.S. No matter what your mother told you, Lincoln Ash loved me.
    Tallulah’s insistence that she was the great love of Lincoln Ash’s life had driven Diddie wild. Tallulah said Ash had promised to come back to Parrish for her as soon as his one-man show in Manhattan was over, but he’d been hit by a bus the day before it closed.
    Diddie told everyone the painting was a figment of Tallulah’s imagination, but Griffin said it wasn’t. “Tallulah has that painting, all right. I’ve seen it.” But when Diddie pressed him for details, he’d just laughed.
    Tallulah refused to display the painting, saying it was all she had left of him, and she wasn’t going to share it with curiosity seekers or those pompous art critics Ash had despised during his lifetime. They’d only analyze the life right out of it. “The world can gawk all it wants after I’m dead,” she’d said. “For now, I’m keeping what I have to myself.”
    Sugar Beth worked the key in the lock. The door was warped, so she had to use her shoulder to push it open. As she stepped inside, something flew at her head. She shrieked and ducked. When her heartbeat returned to normal, she pushed her cowboy hat more firmly down and went the rest of the way inside.
    She could see just enough to make her cringe. A putrid crust of bird crap and dirt covered the scarred old benches of what had once been the depot’s small waiting room. Rusty streaks ran down one of the walls, a fetid puddle sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, and pieces of broken furniture lay scattered around like old bones. Beneath the ticket window, a pile of filthy blankets, old newspapers, and empty tin cans indicated that someone had once squatted here. Her dust allergies kicked up, and she started sneezing.
    When she recovered, she pulled out the flashlight she’d brought along and began to look for the painting.
    In addition to the waiting area, the depot had storage rooms, closets, an office behind the ticket window, and public rest rooms that were unspeakably foul repositories of exposed pipes, stained and broken porcelain, and ominous piles of filth. For the next two hours, she unearthed splintered furniture, crates, battered file cabinets, mice droppings, and a dead bird that made her shudder. What she didn’t find was any sign of the painting.
    Filthy, sneezing, and grossed out, she finally sank down on a bench. If Tallulah hadn’t hidden the painting in either the carriage house or the depot, where had she put it?
    Starting tomorrow, she’d have to begin searching out the surviving members of Tallulah’s canasta club. They’d feel duty-bound to cluck their tongues over her, but they’d been her aunt’s closest friends, and they were most likely to know her secrets. Just as dispiriting was the knowledge that she was down to her last fifty dollars. If she intended to keep eating, she had to