The Rampant Reaper by Marlys Millhiser Read Free Book Online

ham. The dessert table across the room on the way back offered apple pie, pecan pie, and carrot cake—she didn’t count the kinds. Del was already seated before a heaped plate and scrutinized her choices. She ordered a glass of milk to go with the coffee.
    â€œI get it. You’re diabetic.”

    â€œNo, just not used to all the mayo and fried stuff. You should have seen the dinner last night at the home place. And I was on a lot of drugs after the accident. It’s taking my system a while to get over them. And fat’s about as popular as gray hair in Hollywood.” She’d forgotten how good mayonnaise tasted. “So where are the ex and the kids?”
    â€œDes Moines.”
    â€œAh, you did leave home and go to the big city.”
    â€œOh, yeah. Iowa State, Des Moines, family—and then everything went bust and I came home. I love it here. I get to play Marshal, look for Marlys, talk to dead folks out at the cemetery, got two snowmobiles, hunt pheasants, look for Marlys, play with my snowplow—it’s just a dump truck with a blade on the front but it’s really big, makes lots of noise.”
    â€œAnd be Officer Sweetle, too. What more could a man want?”
    They were trying to ignore a woman at the next table who couldn’t extricate herself from the captain’s chair. Finally, Delwood went over to hold the chair down. “Now you push with your arms, Mrs. Lansky. They just don’t make these things big enough.”
    â€œGuess I’ll have to go on a diet,” she said ruefully.
    Mr. Lansky, skinny of course, stared at the ceiling. The girl with them sat on a folding chair from the nonsmoking pit. More of her hung over each side than rested on the seat.
    â€œDo you eat here often?” Charlie asked Del when he sat down again.
    The hostess had the captain’s chair moved against the wall and a folding chair replacing it before Mrs. Lansky returned with her second helping.
    â€œWell, Station’s only open evenings and for brunch on Sunday. There’s a little café in the schoolhouse for breakfast and lunch every day but Sunday. I eat with my folks now and then. And Viagra’s is open for lunch and dinner every day.” He glanced over at the double backsides at the Lansky table. “Maybe I won’t have that piece of pecan pie after all.”

    â€œHow can such a small town support all these eateries?”
    â€œThe Station draws from the towns around and the farms—what’s left of them. So does Viagra’s, and the population’s aging fast here. Women get to be a certain age and have some money, they don’t want to cook anymore. And there’s no McDonald’s this side of Mason City.”
    â€œAre any of your people at Gentle Oaks?” Charlie asked as they stepped outside.
    â€œTwo grandparents and a great-aunt.”
    â€œThat why you were up there this morning?”
    â€œNo, as a matter of fact.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Better see if the coroner’s shown yet. Had another death last night.”
    Charlie took the opportunity to check her own voice mail. A call from Larry, her assistant at the office. One from Mitch Hilsten, superstar. And one from Libby Abigail Greene, who never would have had that middle name if Charlie had met its origin.
    Libby’s was a simple, “Hi, Mom, everything’s fine here. Just wondering how you and Grandma are doing in Iowa. And what you and Grandma are doing in Iowa. Have fun, love ya.”
    That kid had been nothing but trouble since her conception—and yet that voice alone could bring a constriction to the back of Charlie’s throat that took her breath away. That kid was a senior in high school and would soon fly the nest. Charlie so wanted to be there, not here.
    Charlie’s hair was sort of a light bronze and uncontrollably curly. Libby’s was platinum-blonde and straight, but both drew looks of surprise