Cry Wolf by Tami Hoag Read Free Book Online Page B

box. The box was lined with red velvet and filled with man things. Daddy's money clip, the two big chunky rings he never wore, his tie tacks and cuff links and some Indian-head pennies.
    Laurel reached in and lifted out the red crawfish tie pin she had given him for Father's Day when she was seven. It wasn't worth much. Savannah had helped her buy it for three dollars at the crawfish festival in Breaux Bridge. But Daddy had smiled when he opened the box, and told her it would be one of his favorites. He had worn it to the father-daughter dinner at school that year, and Laurel had been so happy and proud, she could have burst.
    “Laurel,” Vivian snapped, “what are you into now? Oh, that jewelry box. I'd nearly forgotten.”
    She shooed Laurel aside and made a hasty pass through the box, setting aside a pair of diamond cuff links, a signet ring, a diamond tie pin. Then she ordered Tansy to bring a shoe box and dumped the rest of the contents into it. Laurel watched in horror, tears streaming down her cheeks, the crawfish pin sticking her hand as she tightened her fist around it.
    Vivian shot her a suspicious look. “What have you got there?”
    Laurel sniffed and tightened her fingers. “Nothin'.”
    “Don't you lie to me, missy,” Vivian said sharply. “Good little girls don't tell lies. Open your hand.”
    Be a good girl, Laurel thought, always be a good girl, or Mama gets cross. She bit her lip to keep from crying as she held out her hand and opened her fist.
    Vivian rolled her eyes as she picked up the tie pin, pinching it between thumb and forefinger and holding it up as if it were a live bug. “Oh, for pity's sake! What do you want with this piece of trash?”
    Laurel flinched as if the word had struck her. Daddy hadn't called it trash, even if it was. “But Mama—”
    Her mother turned away from her, dropping the pin in the shoe box Tansy held.
    “B-but Mama,” Laurel said, her breath hitching in her throat around a huge lump. “C-couldn't I keep it j-just 'cause it was D-Daddy's?”
    Vivian wheeled on her, her face pinched, eyes narrowed like a snake's. “Your father is dead and buried,” she said harshly. “There's no use being sentimental about his things. Do you hear me?”
    Laurel backed away from her, feeling sick and hurt and dizzy. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and a hollow ache throbbed inside her heart.
    “You're just being a nuisance in here,” Vivian went on, working herself into a fine lather. “Here I am, doing my best to finish an awful job, a migraine bearing down on me, and pressures like no one knows. We have guests coming for dinner, and you're underfoot . . .”
    The rest of what she had to say sounded like nothing to Laurel but blah blah blah. Her ears were pounding, and her head felt as though it might explode if she couldn't start crying hard real soon. Then Savannah was behind her, putting her hands on Laurel's shoulders.
    “Come on, Baby,” she whispered, drawing her out the bedroom door. “We'll go in my room and look at pictures.”
    They went to Savannah's room and sat on the rug next to the bed, looking at a photo album full of pictures of Daddy Savannah had stolen from the parlor the day of Daddy's funeral. She kept it under her mattress and had told Tansy if she ever tried to take it out or tell Vivian about it, she would have a voodoo woman put a curse on her that would give her warts all over her face and hands. Tansy left it be and had taken to wearing a dime on a string around her neck to protect her from
gris-gris
.
    They sat on the rug and looked at their father in the only way they would ever be able to see him again, and felt alone in all the world, like two little flowers pulled up by the roots.
    That night Ross Leighton came to dinner.
             
    Savannah sat with her back to her dressing table, one foot pulled up on the seat of the chair, one arm wrapped around her leg, the other hand toying with the pendant she never took off. Lost in thought,