The Deader the Better by G. M. Ford Read Free Book Online

inside its silver bark.
I shivered.
    “Misty’s probably going to need
to—” I began. She met my eyes with a granite stare. “Yes?”
she interrupted. I’d seen the look before. Happens when you bring
kids home. I’d done my duty. I’d been well paid. I was now
supposed to show some class and get my act up the road. Preferably
move away…say, to the planet Neptune. One minute Saint George. Next
minute the dragon.
    “She’s probably going to need to
see a doctor,” I said. For a moment, I saw hatred in her eyes. “If
there’s something—” she began. Quickly I interrupted. “Nothing
specific.”
    I kept my eyes on hers. They were
black and filled with denial. The strained silence swallowed the
sounds of trees and wind. I forced myself to maintain eye contact. No
blinking allowed. It took a while. After what seemed like minutes,
her eyes suddenly lost their luster and her face turned the color of
custard.
    “Oh…you mean…”
    “Yeah. You ought to get her tested
for AIDS,” I said. “Just as a precaution.”
    She opened her mouth to deny that
anything so unspeakable could possibly have entered her realm and
then slowly closed it again.
    “Yes,” was all she said, before
turning on her heel and starting back toward the house. I stood in
the driveway until she disappeared.
4
    IN MY BOOK, THERE’S NOTHING WORSE
THAN SOMEBODYtrying to cheer you up when you’re down. When I’m
feeling bad, I want to roll in my sorrow like a pig. I want to hear
Buddy Guy shout the blues or Tom Waits sing songs about old men in
wheelchairs and waitresses with Maxwell House eyes, marmalade thighs
and scrambled yellow hair. I want to drink bourbon till I spill a
couple drinks on the carpet. Maybe shed a tear or two for the
miserable state of the human condition. Then maybe, if nobody’s
looking, shed a few more about the state of my own miserable ass.
Most of all, though, I want to be quiet…quiet and alone. I kept
telling myself it was one of those Men are from Mars, Women
are from Venus kinda things. For the past twenty minutes, Rebecca
had been rambling nonstop. Early on, it was about how I should be
proud of my role in returning Misty McMahon to the bosom of her
family. How there was nothing to be depressed about. After that…could
a been anything. I zoned her out.
    She poked me in the arm. We were
pulled over on the side of the road at the junction of Routes and 1.
Home was left.
    “Well?”
    “Well, what?”
    “Do you want to?”
    “To what?”

    I heard her sigh. “Have you been listening to me?” she asked.
    I figured I’d save myself Act One wherein our hero denies all.
    “No,” I said. “I was somewhere else.”
    She took one hand off the wheel and put it on my shoulder. “You
okay?”
    “Tired, I guess.”
    She made her “poor baby” face and asked, “Did she give you a
bonus?”
    “Yeah. I think so.”
    “How much?”
    I shrugged. “Haven’t looked.”
    I fished in my jacket pocket for the checks. First one made out
for fifteen hundred and sixty dollars. My bill. Opened the other.
Blinked. Counted zeros. Whistled.
    “How much?” Rebecca asked.
    “Ten grand.”
    Next thing I knew, she was enthusing again. About god knows what.
Making a conscious effort not to sigh, I stuck both checks back in my
jacket pocket and picked up the conversation the last place I could
remember.
    “Do I what?”
    I should have known better.
    “Never mind,” she said.
    God, how I hate the old “never mind.” Always makes me feel
like a circus animal. Cue the calliope music. Jump, Leo. Roll over.
Good boy.
    “No…really,” I tried. “What is it you asked me if I wanted
to do?”
    She sighed, but cut me some slack. “Take the long way home.
Maybe spend the night over at Ocean Shores or Grayland or someplace
like that.”
    I thought it over. I’d wondered when she volunteered to come
along today. Wondered more when she’d practically insisted. On her
off weekend, too. Officially, her hours as a forensic