Blanche on the Lam: A Blanche White Mystery by Barbara Neely Read Free Book Online Page B

to New York, but it wouldn't do much more than that. She could probably borrow a bit more but not enough. As it was, she was going to have to ask her friend Yvonne to put her and the kids up until she got on her feet. It was a lot to ask, but she'd once done the same for Yvonne and her three children. Blanche wassuddenly conscious that somewhere above her there was a room where Grace's handbag hung on the back of a chair, or lay on a bed or bureau. Everett's wallet, too, perhaps. She pictured herself tiptoeing into that room, taking twenties, fifties, hundred-dollar bills from designer wallets and stuffing the bills in her bra. She watched herself tiptoe back down the stairs into the kitchen. In all her years of working in people's houses, she had yet to steal any money. She'd borrowed some rice or a couple of potatoes now and again, as necessity demanded, but always replaced them. She wasn't against stealing from this sort. A lot of what they owned really belonged to people like her, who were grossly and routinely underpaid, who worked in the factories and mills and made the money for the big boys. She just didn't believe in taking big risks for nickels and dimes. She also didn't want to be as cutthroat as the people she complained about. But just supposing she could make herself do it, then what? What happened when they found the money was gone? They'd have the cops on her in a flash, especially if she took off after stealing the money. And if they caught her, she'd be worse off than she was now.
    But even if she wasn't prepared to steal it, she needed more money. There was her income-tax check, of course, but its arrival date was uncertain. Ardell had already gotten her refund, and they'd filed on the same day. So, maybe in a couple of days. Maybe even tomorrow. I'll need to get it, sign it....
    And when she had money, how was she going to tell Taifa and Malik that despite her promise to them, and to herself, she was leaving town without them? What could she tell them that would make that all right? And how was she going to keep them from hating her and acting out in ways that might hurt them? She sagged against the sink and stared out the window into the surrounding pine trees as though they might tell her what she should do. If they knew, they weren't saying. They just went right on whispering among themselves. Blanche sighed and reached for the potatoes on the counter beside her. She halted just as herright hand was half an inch from the bright orange colander that held them. Mumsfield, she thought. In the next second he opened the back door.
    This was the second or third time this boy had been on her wavelength. This thing with him was beyond her Approaching Employer Warning sense, which alerted her to the slightest rustling or clinking of a nearing employer. This was more like the way she always knew when her mother was around, or Ardell, or which one of the children was about to fling open the door and bound through the house. This ability to sense Mumsfield's approach was of the same nature but different. What made it different was the fact that she didn't know this boy and didn't appreciate having him on her frequency. At the same time, it was always those closest and kindest to her whose presence she was able to detect before they came into sight or earshot. So what the hell does it mean? She wanted to know. Sympa. It was a term her Haitian friend Marie Claire used to explain relationships between people who, on the surface, had no business being friends. Still, an unknown white boy?
    Mumsfield's “Hello” was spoken so softly, Blanche might have missed it if she hadn't seen his lips move. He closed the door behind him and immediately began pacing the kitchen floor, huffing and mumbling to himself until the air in the room was as stiff as well-beaten egg whites. His pants were once again held up by a belt. Blanche wanted to ask him what had happened to his yellow suspenders, and the orange ones that had preceded