Murder Shoots the Bull by Anne George Read Free Book Online Page B

Alan.”
    Granted, my nerves were already shot from Mitzi’s visit. Now, with this news, I was so shocked, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Alan is our middle child and he and Lisa were married the week they graduated from college. They have two sons, Charlie and Sam, and a nice house in the suburbs of Atlanta. They are our good yuppie children who are leading the great American middle-class life.
    “Aunt Pat? You okay?”
    “She’s at your house right now?”
    “In the bathroom. She’s real upset. She may be throwing up.”
    “What happened?”
    “I don’t know. Do you think you could come over here, though? Just act like you’re dropping in?”
    While I was trying to absorb this information, Debbie whispered, “Gotta go,” and the phone went dead.
    And there I was on the horns of a mother-in-law dilemma. If Lisa had wanted me to know about their separation, she could have come to my house. Instead, she had gone to Debbie’s. On the other hand, what in the world was she doing in Birmingham, anyway? Just a few weeks earlier, she and Alan had been at Haley’s wedding and had seemed lovey-dovey. Maybe too lovey-dovey?
    I didn’t balance on the horns long. Resisting the urge to crawl back in the bed and pull the cover over my head, I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, checked on Woofer who was enjoying rolling over and scratching his back in the grass, and was off to Debbie’s in all of five minutes.
    Debbie answered the door with a bright and loud, “Why,Aunt Pat, what a surprise. Come in. You’re not going to guess who’s here.”
    This child will never be standing with an outstretched hand saying “You like me! You like me!” on Oscar night. Sally Field is perfectly safe.
    My performance wasn’t any better.
    “Oh?” I said, just as brightly. “Who?”
    “Lisa. She just came in from Atlanta.”
    “Lisa? Why how wonderful.”
    I walked past Debbie into the living room where my daughter-in-law was sitting on the sofa. Sitting isn’t the right word. More like crouched into the corner.
    “Well, this is a surprise, honey. How are you?”
    Stupid question. She looked like hell. Her eyes were almost swollen shut from crying, and her hair, usually a smooth, shiny reddish brown, was white and standing up in spikes.
    I’d heard of this, someone’s hair turning white overnight because of a trauma. It had happened to the father in Twin Peaks , still one of my favorite TV shows. But this was my first time to witness it.
    “I’m fine,” she said, reaching over to the coffee table for another Kleenex and blowing her nose. “I’ve left Alan.”
    “I’ll get us some tea,” Debbie said in her fake cheerful voice.
    “You have any Tums?” I asked.
    “Always.” Debbie disappeared into the kitchen, and I turned to look at Lisa.
    “Is Alan okay?”
    “I reckon.”
    “You want to talk about it?”
    “No.” Then the polite Southern child. “No, ma’am.”
    I sat in a chair facing the sofa. “What about the boys? How are they?”
    “They’re fine. They’re in school.”
    “What about when they get out of school?”
    “They’ve got keys.” A reach for another Kleenex.
    Un huh. I digested this news for a moment. Charlie and Sam were borderline, as far as I was concerned, for being left totally unsupervisd.
    “I left them a note,” Lisa volunteered.
    Great. The kids would come home from school and find a note saying their mother had left their father. And them.
    “What about Alan? Does he know you’ve left?”
    Lisa sighed and burrowed deeper into the sofa corner. “He will when he gets home. Whenever that is.”
    “But you don’t want to talk about it?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Excuse me a minute, Lisa.” I got up and went into the kitchen where Debbie was pouring tea into three glasses.
    “Did she say anything?” she asked.
    “Just that she left the boys a note saying she’d gone and that Alan would find out whenever he got home.”
    “Whenever?” Debbie raised an eyebrow.
    I