Fletch and the Widow Bradley by Gregory McDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

been in Mexico before,’ bout two years ago.”
    “Sorry,” Fletch said. “I’m not explaining myself. I’m just surprised. I was told he had the flu. My name is Fletcher.
News-Tribune
. Mister Blaine helped me with a story last week on Wagnall-Phipps. There were some things wrong with the story. Thought I’d better come back and talk with Mister Blaine again.”
    “Fletcher, Fletcher, Fletcher,” the woman said. “You the one wrote that story on what rip-off artists some funeral directors are?”
    “No.”
    “Thought I knew your name. You hungry?”
    “Of course.”
    “That’s the right answer. All good men are hungry all the time.” She held the screen door open for him. “I’ll make you a hamburger.”
    “Wow.”
    “You’re going to say that’s right nice of me.”
    “Yeah.”
    “No need. It gives this woman a great deal of pleasure to feed a hungry man.” The screen door swung closed behind Fletch. “My name’s Happy Franscatti,” she said.
    “You are happy. I mean, you are a happy person.”
    “Yes, I am.” She led the way through the livingroom and diningroom into the kitchen. “I’ve lost a husband and two children in three separate accidents.”
    “That’s God-awful.”
    “Yes, it is. But I’m still a happy person. I was just born cheerful, I guess.” She slapped three hamburger patties onto the grille. “I suspect it has something to do with the body chemistry. It’s in the glands, or something. I know people who have no particular problems, but they act terrible sad all the time.” She spoke loudly over the sizzle of the hamburgers. “They just have no capacity for happiness. I wake up every morning five-thirty, and the day’s songis already goin’ in my heart. I run to the window and peak out at the world to see what the day will bring. Why aren’t you sitting down?”
    Fletch sat at the small kitchen table.
    “I’m Mary Blaine’s aunt,” Happy said. “You met Mary? Mrs. Blaine?”
    “No. I’ve only met with him. In his office.”
    “I’m just house sitting.” She turned over the hamburger, saying: “This is how you keep the juice in. Turn ’em over quick. They called me Thursday noon and said they had a chance to get away to Mexico and could I come right away? I was happy to. You should see my apartment. No, you shouldn’t see my apartment. It’s so small if I gain ten pounds I won’t even be able to visit myself.”
    “They didn’t know they were going ahead of time?”
    “I guess not. Had supper with them Saturday night, and they didn’t mention it. Not at all like Charley. He doesn’t even go to the grocery store without preparing an hour and a half ahead of time, making a list, checking it twice, counting his money, changing his clothes twice. Until you’re ready to yell at him. I came over Thursday noon, drove them to the airport. They were on the three-thirty flight.”
    “Okay,” Fletch said. “His secretary told me Thursday he had the flu.”
    “Maybe he did. He looked pale and didn’t have that much to say, although Charley never does.”
    “How long are they gone for?”
    “Two weeks. Maybe three. Said they’d let me know. Something was wrong with the story you wrote for the newspaper?”
    “My fault. I didn’t check something I thought was obvious.”
    “You in trouble for it?”
    “No,” said Fletch. “I was fired.”
    Happy put the three hamburger patties on three buns, pressed their tops down on them, and piled them all on one plate. “If someone gave you a bum steer,” she said, “it wasn’t Charley. He’s not capable of it. I’ve known him twenty years. He’s too literal-minded to lie.” She put the plate in front of Fletch. “He’s a pest, the way he has to know the literal truth about everything: how much did this cost, how much did that cost, what store did this come from, whom exactly did you see and what exactly did they say. Drives Mary and me nuts. Truth is, we can’t remember all those little things.