Olive and Let Die by Susannah Hardy Read Free Book Online Page B

side, into a bright, spacious kitchen. A round oak table with claw feet sat in the middle of the space, ringed by matching chairs. “Would you like coffee or tea?”
    Both Jack and I asked for coffee. “May I help you?” I said. “I’m not used to being waited on, I’m afraid.”
    Gladys laughed. “I can certainly give you something to do. Why don’t you slice up that banana bread? There’s cream cheese to go with it.”
    Ah, now I was in my element. I crossed to the sink and washed my hands, then set to work slicing the moist, fragrant bread with a serrated knife I found in a knife block on the counter. I scooped some cream cheese, which had been sitting out to soften, into a little crystal dish, then arranged allthe components on a gorgeous antique platter. Gladys provided the coffeepot, and Jack helped her bring over the cups, teaspoons, cream, and sugar.
    â€œWe could go into the front parlor,” Gladys suggested. “That’s where I usually entertain.”
    I looked around me at this cheerful room with its white beadboard cupboards and dark green quartz countertops. “I’m fine here,” I said. I was never as comfortable as when I was in a kitchen, no matter whose kitchen it was.
    â€œMe too, Glad. As long as you’re feeding me, I’m happy,” Jack said.
    â€œThen sit down, handsome.” She grinned, turned to me, and gave a little wink. I grinned back.
    â€œAfter we have this snack, maybe we could take a tour of the house?” Jack said as he chewed. “I’d love to see the rest of the house again, and I know Georgie would. She lives in a historic place too.” His eyes were fixed on the war club, which Gladys had placed on the counter.
    Gladys gave him a playful swat on the arm. “Of course I’ll give you two a tour. And we’ll spend a nice long time in the collection room.” She smiled at me. “I suppose he didn’t tell you why he really wanted to come and visit an old lady?”
    Other than the fact that she was charming and apparently a fine baker? The bread was delicious, perfumed with the deepest banana flavor I’d ever tasted. I almost didn’t want to spoil it with a swig of coffee, but I did. “I don’t really care why we’re here, as long as you give me a copy of this recipe,” I said, swallowing. There was a secret ingredient in there, I was almost sure of it. And it would nag at me until I found out what it was.
    â€œI’ll write it down for you before you leave,” Gladys promised.
    Jack was cheerfully slathering cream cheese on his third helping. He seemed to be able to eat whatever he wanted with no consequences. “So how do you two know each other?” I asked.
    â€œMy parents were friends with Gladys and Herman—we called him Monty,” Jack said. “My siblings and I spent a lot of time here when we were kids.”
That’s right
, I thought. Jack was in the process of getting a permanent transfer to the Bonaparte Bay Coast Guard Station from the Oswego Station, and it made sense that he was reacquainting himself with the people he’d known as a kid. “Gladys’s late husband was a great collector of First Peoples artifacts. He took me with him on a few of his expeditions out into the countryside. I dug up some arrowheads when I was a kid and was bitten by the bug.”
    A memory glimmered somewhere in the back of my mind. The word “SCOOM”—“Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, Oneida, Mohawk.” Every junior high school kid in New York State did a unit on the federated Iroquois nations who lived here and provided the foundation for the fledgling American government in the eighteenth century. Of course—I could still hear the voice of my seventh grade social studies teacher—most of the tribes had sided with the British during the Revolution and were not treated very well by the victorious patriots.