Murder Gets a Life by Anne George Read Free Book Online Page A

There’s a man in Meemaw’s trailer been stabbed.”
    “Bad?” Pawpaw asked.
    “He’s stuck to the linoleum,” Meemaw said loudly.
    The sheriff gave her a hard look. “He’s dead, Melvin.”
    Pawpaw’s hands went to his chest. “Oh, my Lord!”
    “He’s fixing to have an attack,” Mary Alice whispered.
    The sheriff must have thought so, too. He opened the back car door and had Pawpaw sit down.
    “Who is it?” Pawpaw asked, hands still pressed to his chest.
    “Deputy Carter thinks it’s Chief Joseph, the Mexican guy who chiefs down at Crystal Caverns weekends. You know him?”
    “An Indian chief? I don’t know any Indian chiefs.”
    “He’s not a real Indian, Melvin. Just dresses up like one and charges people to pose for pictures with their kids.”
    Pawpaw took off his old felt hat and rubbed the back of his arm across his forehead. A long Willie Nelson braid hung down his back.
    “He told you he doesn’t know any Indian chief, Junior.” Meemaw jerked on Pawpaw’s braid. He turned to look at her. “Sunshine’s gone, sweetheart. Our Sunshine’s been kidnapped.”
    “Sunshine?” He turned to the sheriff for confirmation. Sheriff Reuse nodded. Still no attack. “Sunshine’s gone?”
    “She’s fine, Melvin. We’ll find her.”
    Pawpaw seemed to think about this a moment, then announced, “I think I’m going to go take a nap now.”
    “I’ll go with him, bless his heart,” Meemaw said.
    “Good idea,” Sheriff Reuse agreed.
    “What about us?” Sister asked him.
    “You can go home. I’ll be in touch.” The sheriff headed back toward Meemaw’s trailer while the Turketts climbed out of the backseat of the Jaguar.
    “Listen here, missy.” Meemaw stuck her head in the window. “I saw the way you were coming on to Pawpaw. I don’t care whose mother-in-law you are, the Pope’s or Jesus Christ’s. You just watch your step.”
    Sister’s mouth fell open. “My God! The nerve of that woman!” she said as Meemaw walked away.
    Oh, joy! Oh, celestial choirs! I had lived long enough to see Mary Alice Tate Sullivan Nachman Crane meet her match.
    “And what fool kind of policing do you call this?” Sister jerked the car into reverse and backed up, narrowly missing the patrol car. “We fall over a dead body, and does the sheriff ask us a single question?” Sister whirled the car around, again almost hitting the sheriff’s car. “No. He just says, ‘Go on home, ladies. I’ll be in touch.’” We headed down the briar patch trail at a clip guaranteed to test the Jaguar’s whole suspension system. “I mean, does he think Sunshine’s been kidnapped and should I call Ray?”
    “Don’t know.” Like Brer Rabbit, I know when to lay low.
    “That’s what I’m talking about, Mouse. The man hasn’t got walking-around sense. None of those folks back there do.”
    What happened next snapped me out of the fugue state I was still halfway caught in. We reached the highway, and Mary Alice dutifully almost stopped at the stop sign. She’s explained to a lot of cops that that’s what keeps her car’s transmission flexible. But just as she started to pull onto the highway, a car that seemed to appear from nowhere careened by, missing us by inches.
    We both screamed.
    “My God! Where did that come from?” Sister finally said. “Are you okay, Mouse? You’re not having an attack, are you?”
    I realized that, like Pawpaw, I had my hands against my chest, holding my heart in.
    The events of the day were suddenly clear and overwhelming, and this last fright was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I began to cry, groping for one of the tissues that I had mopped Meemaw’s tears up with.
    “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”
    “Because we almost got killed.”
    Sister reached into her purse. “You need some aspirin.”
    “No, I don’t. I’m tired and I just want to go home.” To Fred and Woofer and the big pots of red geraniums on the porch.
    Sister turned onto the highway and we