Gideon by Russell Andrews Read Free Book Online

Luther’s eyes twitched. Just a tad, but nonetheless, there it was. Harry was not the type to ever miss a twitch.
    “I know her,” the alderman said. “Or rather, I knew her. I’m afraid she’s passed on.”
    He was lying. His face was an easy one to read. Harry went along with the lie, sighed, and shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Has it been long?”
    “Three weeks,” Luther said. “Maybe a little more.”
    “That recent,” Harry said quite mournfully. Then he pulled out a pad and pen. “What was her name? I’ll need it for when we file the final estate settlement in probate court.”
    “Clarissa May Wynn,” the alderman told him. “She was an old, old woman. In her nineties, I believe.”
    “Buried locally, is she?”
    “Why, no,” Luther said tightly, narrowing his eyes at Wagner. “She was cremated.”
    “Ah,” Harry said. “Then may I bother you for a copy of her death certificate? We may need it.”
    “In a few weeks—that’s the best I can do. Our records are all being converted to computer right now. I’m afraid our little town’s coming into the twentieth century just as the twenty-first’s about to start.”
    “What about an official notice of death?”
    Alderman Heller stared at Harry Wagner for quite a long time before answering. “The Gazette’s about half a mile down the road,” he said.
    “What a shame,” Harry said as he started for the door. “She’ll never know how well she was remembered.”
    “Momma’s in a better world,” Luther Heller said. “I’m sure if it’s worth knowin’, they’ll tell her up there.”
    * * *
    It took Harry only five minutes to reach the local newspaper office, but by the time he got there he was certain Luther Heller had called ahead. The black clerk couldn’t find any issues from the previous month. He said it would take him several days to locate what Harry was looking for. As much as Harry hated inefficiency, he hated even more being treated like some kind of fool. “The black man did let him use their phone book— that he could find—but there were no Wynns listed.
    But he did find a listing for Luther Heller.
    Harry drove out to the black side of town, past the tires and mattresses and patches of dead grass covered with discarded beer cans and whiskey bottles. He found Luther’s cinder-block house, slightly larger than some of the others but certainly not much in the scheme of things. A small front yard, a fenced-in vegetable garden off to the side, an American flag hanging over the front door. Because the air was so still, the flag seemed shriveled, unmoving.
    Several feet in front of the door to Luther Heller’s house, under the shade of a tall maple tree, an attractive black woman was sitting in a beach chair. She was reading a paperback book. From time to time she sipped from a pink plastic glass, which rested on the burnt, brown grass by her right arm when she wasn’t drinking. She was perhaps thirty years old, but she looked tired, worn out. Playing jacks on the hard, sun-baked earth near her was a young girl, maybe six or seven years old, humming to herself as she expertly scooped up the tiny pieces. Luther’s daughter and grand daughter, Harry decided. They had his eyes.
    He introduced himself and smiled politely. Said that he was looking for Momma One-Eye. Said that he had some money for her. Luther had told him to come by. Luther had tried to describe the route himself but it was too complicated, decided it was easier if someone who knew the way would just take him. Luther said his daughter could do it if she was around. The woman on the beach chair didn’t say a word, simply stared at him. Harry felt himself getting angry. He was being polite. He was perfectly friendly. This woman should have the decency to respond to him.
    From the neighboring porch, two black men also stared, saying nothing. Their shirts were off and the sweat on their hard bodies caught the sun just right and