The Cane Mutiny by Tamar Myers Read Free Book Online

double-checked my seat belt, gritted my teeth, and hung on to the overhead handhold.
    Major Moolah Road is unpaved, and as rough as a dragon’s back, but it’s mercifully short. Claudette Aikenberg lives at the very end, on a wooded peninsula that juts out into the Wadmalaw River. At the end of her drive an understated sign announces the name of her house: Three Bears.
    We hadn’t called, so I was both relieved and somewhat panicked to see a Jaguar sitting in the circular drive. Mama parked immediately behind it and then tooted her own horn.
    â€œMama! What is that for?”
    â€œI’m just giving her a heads-up, dear. What ifshe’s in the middle of putting on makeup and has only one eyebrow stenciled on? She might be too embarrassed to come to the door. I thought we’d give her about five minutes before we ring her bell. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”
    â€œMaybe. And that’s penciled on, not stenciled.”
    â€œOh, not for me, dear. When you get to be my age and have nothing left, it’s just easier to use a stencil.”
    â€œI never heard of such a thing.”
    â€œThey’re called ‘The Eyes Have It.’ They come in eight different shapes. I like the one called Cupid’s Bow the best. See?” She turned her head so I could see both sides in profile.
    Her brows were exactly matched. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? And why hadn’t I noticed that her skin hung in textured ribbons, like flesh-colored orange peels? Mama was getting old, and since the distance between our ages has pretty much stayed constant, that meant I too was getting older. I glanced at the backs of hands: still smooth, but several of the freckles were morphing into age spots.
    â€œLooks nice, Mama.”
    â€œThank you, dear. Do you think there’s any chance we could talk Wynnell into shaving off those hideous eyebrows of hers and using the stencils?”
    â€œI seriously doubt it. Wynnell needs those brows the same way a cat needs whiskers. They help her judge spaces. You wouldn’t want her to get her head stuck in a cupboard, would you?”
    Mama laughed, even though I was half serious. We chatted pleasantly for a few more minutes before Mama got out to fluff her crinolines. Then she had me honk the car one last time.
    Thanks to our generous warning, Claudette Aikenberg answered the massive front door looking like a million bucks. I recognized her immediately from the auction, even though then she was wearing an Hermès head scarf and Versace sunglasses. It was clear by her expression that she didn’t have the slightest recollection who I was, despite my rather distinctive size, which is usually a surefire giveaway.
    â€œHey,” Mama said, ever the smooth operator. “I’m Mozella Wiggins, and this is my daughter, Abby. We’d like to invite you to church with us.”
    I would have gasped in surprise, but Mama, anticipating that, kicked me in the shin with the heel of her pump. I gasped in pain instead.
    â€œYes, come to church with us,” I managed to say.
    â€œWhat church is that?”
    â€œChurch of the Holy Confection,” Mama said, without missing a beat.
    â€œFather Baker teaches a mean Sunday school class,” I said after just one beat.
    â€œIs it Catholic?”
    Mama smiled coyly. “Are you?”
    â€œBaptist.”
    â€œOh well, this church is intensely Catholic. I’m sure you’d be happier at a Baptist church. But a celebrity, such as yourself, probably already belongs to a church…” Mama let her voice trail off. Clearly she was up to something; something diabolical.
    Claudette Aikenberg swung the door wide open. “Ladies, would y’all like to come in and sit a spell? Maybe have a glass of tea.”
    â€œDon’t mind if I do,” Mama said, and sailed in like she had a stiff breeze to her back.
    I followed meekly, apologizing out the