Half Past Dead by Meryl Sawyer Read Free Book Online Page B

her best efforts something deep inside her ached.
    She forced herself to concentrate on the newspaper. She would deal with her mother and sister soon enough. The paper seemed to have more ads than she’d remembered. There were lots of articles about the local teams and reports of church services.
    It intimidated Kat a little to be going to work at a newspaper. She wished she had more education. Her father—bless him—had wanted her to go to college. He told her he’d set aside money for both Tori and Kat to go to a state school. They would have to work while they were there, but the money was in a special account for their education. It had mysteriously vanished after his death.
    Tori had been in Oxford, taking extension classes at Ole Miss and working at an expensive boutique. In the months immediately following her father’s heart attack, Kat had expected her mother to try to get Tori into Ole Miss full-time. It hadn’t happened. Tori was still attending part-time when Kat had been arrested. Kat had called her mother from jail. She’d hung up on Kat.
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    I T WAS AFTER EIGHT O’CLOCK by the time Kat’s hair was done and she’d gone to the supermarket for food. She’d stocked her small fridge with low-fat, low-carb goodies. She was better-looking, thanks to Lola Rae. The warm brown hair with red highlights in a bouncy flip made her eyes seem greener and her skin less sallow from the years in prison.
    Lola Rae had shown her a few tricks with mascara and a hint of eye shadow. She’d applied a light sheen of foundation with a sponge and dusted Kat’s cheekbones with a soft coral blush. All of the cosmetics went onto Kat’s tab. She hoped she could duplicate Lola Rae’s efforts on Monday before she went to work.
    Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since Special Agent Wilson had bought her a salad at noon. She should stay home and study the paper more closely so she would be familiar with the layout, but she’d been dreaming about Jo Mama’s Ribs for years. Surely her first night of freedom called for a small celebration.
    She drove her Toyota over to the north side, where Jo Mama’s Ribs had been located for nearly forty years. Jo Johnson had opened the place back when her husband became one of the first black pilots in the Tuskegee Air Squadron during the Second World War. He’d been killed early on, and a foul-up had deprived Jo of his pension for years. She supported their five children by making the best ribs in this part of Mississippi.
    Abe Johnson had taken over when his mother’s health began to fail. A mountain of a man with a huge smile, Abe had inherited his mother’s talent for cooking. Big Abe’s ribs had been her father’s favorite, and he brought her to Jo Mama’s at least twice a month when he’d been alive. Her mother and Tori never came, her mother insisting no self-respecting white person would be seen in the “north side.”
    Kat parked and walked up to the outside takeout window. Being Friday night, the place was packed, and there was a long line waiting to get in. More than half of the people appeared to be white. Just like her father had always said, “Good people know good food, and good people don’t care about the color of your skin.”
    She waited behind a man who could no longer see his shoes, and his wife, who shuffled along beside him in what appeared to be a housecoat. Kat promised herself she would limit Big Abe’s ribs to special occasions.
    The couple put in their order and stepped aside. Kat moved up to the window. Big Abe’s daughter DeShawnna took Kat’s order for baby back ribs and coleslaw—no fries, onion rings, or barbecued beans.
    DeShawnna hesitated a moment, pencil poised in the air and asked, “Don’t I know you?”
    She paused, reluctant to say her name. What if they refused to serve her? Get over it, she told herself.