Aurora 03 - Three Bedrooms, One Corpse by Charlaine Harris Page B
Authors: Charlaine Harris
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mother. Gerald had remarried. Arthur Smith had gotten married. And I...
It seemed LeMaster Cane and I were the only ones who were basically unchanged in life condition in the eighteen months or so since Real Murders had had its last meeting.
Chapter Four
FRIDAY MORNING I woke with that blank feeling I’d had lately. Nothing specific to do, nowhere particular to go. No one expected me anywhere.
Even though library funding cuts had meant I’d only been part-time, my work hours had shaped my week. I had an increasingly strong feeling I wouldn’t be throwing my lot in with Mother’s at Select Realty, so I wouldn’t be studying for my real estate license.
Lying in bed drowsily was not such a pleasure if it wasn’t illicit, even with Madeleine’s heavy warm body curled up against my leg. Before, I’d used this time to map out my day. Now the time lay like a wasteland before me. I didn’t want to think about the dinner party tonight, didn’t want to feel again the alternating apprehension and attraction Martin Bartell aroused in me.
So I scolded myself out of bed, down the stairs, and popped an exercise video into the VCR
after switching on the coffeepot. I stretched and bent and hopped around obediently, grudging every necessary minute of it. Madeleine watched this new part of my morning routine with appalled fascination.
Now that I was thirty, calories were no longer burning themselves off quite so easily. Three times a week my mother, clad in gorgeous exercise clothes, went to the newly opened Athletic Club and did aerobics. Mackie Knight, Franklin Farrell, and Donnie Greenhouse, plus a host of other Lawrencetonians, ran or biked every evening. I’d seen Franklin’s cohort, Terry Sternholtz, out “power walking” with Eileen. My mother’s new husband was a golfer. Almost everyone I knew did something to keep her muscles in working order and her body in the proper shape. So I’d succumbed to the necessity myself, but with little grace and less enthusiasm.
At least I felt I’d earned my coffee and toast, and my shower was a real pleasure afterward.
While I was drying my hair, I decided that today I’d start looking at houses seriously. I needed a project, and finding a house I really liked would do. Jane’s books and the few things from her house I’d wanted to keep were stacked in odd places around the town-house, and I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Mother had hinted heavily that Jane’s dining room set would be welcome in her third bedroom for a short time only.
Of course, I’d have to go through Select Realty, and I didn’t think I ought to have Mother showing me around. Eileen, Idella, or Mackie? Mackie could use the vote of confidence, I reflected, standing bent at the waist with my hair hanging down so I could dry the bottom layer.
But though I didn’t have anything against Mackie, I never had been too crazy about him, either. I didn’t think it was because he was black or because he was male. I just wasn’t that comfortable with him. On the other hand, Eileen was smart and sometimes funny, but too bossy. Idella was sweet and could leave you alone when you needed to think, but she was no fun at all.
After a moment’s consideration, I chose Eileen. I phoned the office.
Patty said she wasn’t in.
I looked up Eileen’s home number and punched it with an impatient finger.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Eileen, please?”
“May I tell her who’s calling?”
“Roe Teagarden.” Who the hell was this? Eileen’s personal home secretary? On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly my business.
Eileen finally came on the line.
“Hi, Eileen. I’ve decided to start moving on finding a house of my own. Can you show me some, pretty soon?”
“Sure! What are you looking for?”
Oh. Well, four walls and a roof ... I began speaking as I thought. “I want at least three bedrooms, because I need a room for a library. I want a kitchen with some counter space.” The townhouse was
It seemed LeMaster Cane and I were the only ones who were basically unchanged in life condition in the eighteen months or so since Real Murders had had its last meeting.
Chapter Four
FRIDAY MORNING I woke with that blank feeling I’d had lately. Nothing specific to do, nowhere particular to go. No one expected me anywhere.
Even though library funding cuts had meant I’d only been part-time, my work hours had shaped my week. I had an increasingly strong feeling I wouldn’t be throwing my lot in with Mother’s at Select Realty, so I wouldn’t be studying for my real estate license.
Lying in bed drowsily was not such a pleasure if it wasn’t illicit, even with Madeleine’s heavy warm body curled up against my leg. Before, I’d used this time to map out my day. Now the time lay like a wasteland before me. I didn’t want to think about the dinner party tonight, didn’t want to feel again the alternating apprehension and attraction Martin Bartell aroused in me.
So I scolded myself out of bed, down the stairs, and popped an exercise video into the VCR
after switching on the coffeepot. I stretched and bent and hopped around obediently, grudging every necessary minute of it. Madeleine watched this new part of my morning routine with appalled fascination.
Now that I was thirty, calories were no longer burning themselves off quite so easily. Three times a week my mother, clad in gorgeous exercise clothes, went to the newly opened Athletic Club and did aerobics. Mackie Knight, Franklin Farrell, and Donnie Greenhouse, plus a host of other Lawrencetonians, ran or biked every evening. I’d seen Franklin’s cohort, Terry Sternholtz, out “power walking” with Eileen. My mother’s new husband was a golfer. Almost everyone I knew did something to keep her muscles in working order and her body in the proper shape. So I’d succumbed to the necessity myself, but with little grace and less enthusiasm.
At least I felt I’d earned my coffee and toast, and my shower was a real pleasure afterward.
While I was drying my hair, I decided that today I’d start looking at houses seriously. I needed a project, and finding a house I really liked would do. Jane’s books and the few things from her house I’d wanted to keep were stacked in odd places around the town-house, and I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Mother had hinted heavily that Jane’s dining room set would be welcome in her third bedroom for a short time only.
Of course, I’d have to go through Select Realty, and I didn’t think I ought to have Mother showing me around. Eileen, Idella, or Mackie? Mackie could use the vote of confidence, I reflected, standing bent at the waist with my hair hanging down so I could dry the bottom layer.
But though I didn’t have anything against Mackie, I never had been too crazy about him, either. I didn’t think it was because he was black or because he was male. I just wasn’t that comfortable with him. On the other hand, Eileen was smart and sometimes funny, but too bossy. Idella was sweet and could leave you alone when you needed to think, but she was no fun at all.
After a moment’s consideration, I chose Eileen. I phoned the office.
Patty said she wasn’t in.
I looked up Eileen’s home number and punched it with an impatient finger.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Eileen, please?”
“May I tell her who’s calling?”
“Roe Teagarden.” Who the hell was this? Eileen’s personal home secretary? On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly my business.
Eileen finally came on the line.
“Hi, Eileen. I’ve decided to start moving on finding a house of my own. Can you show me some, pretty soon?”
“Sure! What are you looking for?”
Oh. Well, four walls and a roof ... I began speaking as I thought. “I want at least three bedrooms, because I need a room for a library. I want a kitchen with some counter space.” The townhouse was
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