Anne George - Murder Carries a Torch (A Southern Sisters Mystery)

Im telling you, Patricia Anne. Fred kissing the ground like he did was a little too much. Embarrassing.

He slipped.

Slipped, my foot. The man was on his hands and knees patting the concrete, saying, Thank God. Its a wonder everybody didnt fall over him.

I glanced around at my sister, Mary Alice, who was standing at my utility room door watching me put clothes in the washing machine. She had on a gray pants suit with a cream-colored turtleneck sweater and had already informed me that she was on her way to a luncheon.

I was one of the ones who had nearly fallen over my husband Fred at the airport, but I still felt the need to defend him.

He hates to fly.

Well, I figured that out for myself about an hour out of Birmingham. Every time I spoke to him he growled. Did you hear those noises? Pure growls. And he didnt even chew the peanuts. He trashed them. Mary Alice chomped her teeth together. Like that. Thank God I wasnt sitting next to him on the Concorde. Youve earned your place in heaven living with that man for forty years. She paused. Why are you spraying Windex around that shirt-sleeve cuff?

Because I havent had a chance to go to the store. This works as good as Spray n Wash. I put the shirt into the machine, closed the lid, and turned on the warm cycle.

How come youre not jet-lagged like I am? I asked. I feel like theres a weight on top of my head.

Mary Alice moved from the doorway and I followed her into the kitchen and collapsed onto a chair.

I have more reserves than you do. More stored-up energy. You want some coffee?

I nodded that I did. She got two mugs, poured the coffee, and pushed the sugar toward me.

You see, she explained seriously, its simple. Im slightly larger than you, and that little extra fat gives me more energy. If you would eat normally, you wouldnt be so tired.

Little extra fat. Slightly larger. Ha. The woman is six-feet tall and weighs two hundred fifty pounds. Admits to that. No telling what she really weighs. Especially after hitting every good restaurant in Warsaw, Poland, where we had been for the last two weeks spending Christmas with my newly married daughter Haley. And, believe me, there are some good restaurants there.

You probably lost weight in Warsaw, she continued.

I may have. All that walking.

And not eating.

I poured milk into my coffee and watched it swirl around. No way I was going to get into this argument. Mary Alice has never believed that its genetics that made me a foot shorter than she is and a size six petite. She swears its lack of nutrition.

I had an E-mail from Haley this morning, I said. Shes missing us.

Well, of course she is. Nobody speaks English in Warsaw. Nobody. And theres not even so much as a WalMart. Just all those museums, old as the hills, and you have to ride those rickety streetcars to get anywhere, for heavens sake.

I thought it was a beautiful city.

Well, you see, thats the difference in you and me, Mouse. I like things to move a little faster.

You mean like interstates?

And better TV. Their Wheel of Fortune was pitiful.

I sighed and let Mary Alice ramble on. Haley was very happy, and she and her new husband, Dr. Philip Nachman, considered it the opportunity of a lifetime to be spending the first few months of their married life in richly cultured Warsaw.

Ill say this, though. Mary Alice took a sip of her coffee. Nephew seems to be making Haley happy.

The nephew bit is going to take a little clarification. Mary Alices second husband was also Philip Nachman. Haleys new husband is his nephew, named for his uncle. So Haley and Philip are Mary Alices niece and nephew (Philip by marriage). The nephew is to keep from confusing him with the original Philip Nachman, dead and buried at Elmwood Cemetery beside Sisters other husbands long ago, but still alive (so she says) in her heart. Certainly in her bank account. Each of her three husbands left her richer than the preceding one.

She leaned forward. Dont you think so?

What? That Haleys happy? Sure.

Its the Nachman genes. She stirred her coffee. I almost asked Haley, but I decided not to.

Asked her what?

Well, my Philip, when we were making love, just before hed, Sister paused. Well, he had this unusual thing hed do.

What?

Hed stop for a second and say, Lord, the saints are marching in. She smiled.

I thought about this disclosure for a moment. Somehow I dont think thats genetic, Sister.

Probably not. He did go to Tulane. But every time I hear that song I get misty-eyed. I wanted to have a New Orleans band play it at his funeral, strutting down the path at Elmwood with their umbrellas, but I wasnt sure it was kosher.

I wouldnt think so.

Mary Alice looked into her coffee cup thoughtfully. He was a lovely man, Mouse. Very much in touch with his inner child. No big alpha male hang-up like Fred has.

Alpha males dont kiss the ground when they get home.

Ha. I knew he didnt trip. Mary Alice got up, put her mug into the dishwasher, and turned to face me. I might as well tell you, Mouse. Ive made a New Years resolution to get married this year.

To Cedric?

Who?

The last man you were engaged to.

Of course not. Im serious. She leaned over the counter toward the table where I was still collapsed. I was thinking while we were crossing the Atlantic that my sell by date is fast approaching and I want some steady company, preferably someone who can dip me when we dance.