Paula K. Perrin - Small Town Deadly by Paula K. Perrin Read Free Book Online Page B

having to
learn lines and altering the dress that I only offered half-heartedly.”  I
rubbed my head.  “How could she die of the flu, or food poisoning, or
whatever it was?”
    “Apparently Tony came home in
the middle of the night and found her unconscious in the bathroom.  He rushed
her to the hospital, but they couldn’t save her.”
    “Poor Tony.”  Tony Vico
was an airline pilot, and the most devoted husband and father in town.
    “Anyway—will you please go
over there with me?”
    “So you won’t have to go to
the funeral home?”
    Her voice was small when she
replied, “I know I’m awful about it, but I just can’t bear to.  I’ll pick
you up in ten minutes.”
    “I need 45.”
    “Skip the coffee.  I’ll be
there in 20.”
    I headed for the bathroom, but
Mother’s faint voice caught me midway across the landing.  “What’s going
on?” she called.
    When Meg returned home after
dropping out of college, Mother canceled her cell phone.  We now had three
phone lines in the house, one for each of us.  Mother always turned off the
bell on the phone by her bed at night since the pain of her arthritis often
kept her from sleeping.  Everyone who knew us waited to call till after ll:00
AM.  Still, all three lines came together on the phone in the kitchen on the
other side of her bedroom wall, and Fran’s three sets of rings would have been
hard to ignore—I was the proof of that pudding.
    I ran down the stairs and slid
open the oak double doors.  Years ago she’d taken over the dining room as her
bedroom when the stairs became too difficult.  Mother was sitting up in bed
with her grey hair tumbling onto her shoulders.
    “What’s happening?”
Mother asked.
    “Let me get you some coffee,
then we’ll talk.”
    “No, just tell me.”
    “Fran called with some bad
news.  Annamaria died last night.”  I told her what Fran had said. 
“I have to hurry, Fran’s going pick me up soon.”
    Mother nodded.  “Start the
coffee, will you?”
    As I went into the kitchen, she
called after me, “Where’s Meg?”
    “I don’t know.  I heard her
chasing Bunny through the Ferguson’s yard earlier.”  As I measured coffee
into the filter, I heard Mother’s small sounds of pain in the next room as she
got out of bed.  It was the worst time of day for her when, as she said, she
was most like the tin man after a hard rain.
    “Coffee’s started,” I
called and ran upstairs.  I intended to hurry, but my thoughts roamed as the
hot water beat on my head and back.  Where could Fran have disappeared to last
night and why?  Why had Andre been holding Meg’s lipstick?  Why had Meg arrived
late to the rehearsal wearing a different costume than we’d planned?
    And why would anyone kill Andre at
the play rehearsal when there were so many people around?  “Because his
house has a security system, that’s why!” I said.
    I hoped Gene would find the killer
fast.  I shivered even though the water running over me was still hot.
    This made five deaths of people
close to me in the last three years.  First James Egan, Fran’s husband, died
after a long battle with cancer.  Then Barry, Andre’s secretary, died of AIDS. 
Horrible as both deaths had been, they’d brought relief from suffering.
    But the deaths that had
followed—each had been appalling in its suddenness, its unfairness—Hugh
gunned down in that robbery.  Now Andre being murdered and Annamaria dying only
a few hours ago.
    My chest ached.
    I hurried out of the shower,
wrapped in a towel.  I heard a noise in the study.  “Meg?” I said,
crossing to the door.
    Fran straightened from the file
drawer of my desk, a large manila envelope in her hand.  Today she wore her
hair the way I liked it best, in a single braid that stretched nearly to her
waist.  She wore navy slacks and sweater. “Nope, me, and you’ve caught me
red-handed.”
    “Honestly, you and Meg are
the worst.  I’d trust you both with my purse or national