anything.”
“Just that he had good taste,” Hazel Marie said. She took a sip of tea, then said, “I’d sure like to know how he ended up in Miss Petty’s toolshed.”
“Me too,” Lillian said. “You reckon he a friend of hers?”
“I hope not,” Etta Mae said, laughing. “I’d hate to be her friend if that’s her guest room.”
Even though I’d been determined not to be drawn into other people’s problems, I couldn’t help being interested in the conversation. For one thing, it distracted me from stewing over the bank’s mistake and how I could make them admit to it. “Do any of you know Miss Petty? LuAnne told me that her father used to own that hardware store downtown that closed a few years ago, but that’s all I know about her.”
“Oh, she’s real nice,” Hazel Marie said. “I met her on Parents’ Night at the school back in the fall. She was kinda quiet and mousy looking, though I hate to criticize. I remember thinking that she’d look so much better if she’d take a few pains with her hair and put on some makeup.”
“Maybe you ought to offer to do a makeover for her,” Etta Mae suggested. “You’re real good at that.”
Hazel Marie laughed. “I expect she has more on her mind than a makeover right now. She must be scared to death knowing that somebody died in her backyard. And she lives alone, doesn’t she?”
I thought about it for a minute. “She must. I know her father’s gone, and I believe her mother died years ago. She must’ve inherited the house, because LuAnne said that’s where her folks lived before they passed. I don’t know about any brothers or sisters. And I guess with her name still being Petty, she never married.”
“Speaking of names,” Etta Mae said, her eyes bright with a sudden thought, “if that man had on a decent suit, wouldn’t he have had a billfold or something? I mean, some kind of identification on him?”
“You would think so,” I said, realizing that Etta Mae had asked an astute question, taking us right back to that dead body. “Yet the paper said he was unidentified.”
“Hm,” she said. “Maybe they know who he is but just haven’t released the name. They do that, you know, so they can notify the family first.”
“Then all we have to do,” Lillian chimed in, “is ride around till we see who got a black wreath on they door.”
“Well,” Hazel Marie said, as if she hadn’t heard the intervening comments. “All I know is that Miss Petty had nice things to say about Lloyd—what a good student he is and how polite he is—so she must be a nice person.”
“Except,” I said, “when she yells at the students in class. At least that’s what Lloyd told me, but it sounded as if she has reason to yell at times. Still, that means she’s not quite as quiet and mousy as she looks.”
Lillian said, “I’m waitin’ on Lloyd to get home. I bet he gonna know all they is to know.”
“I bet he will!” I said, as we all laughed. “That school will be rife with rumors and speculations and wrongheaded theories. I just don’t want him to get too wrapped up in what’s going on.”
Hazel Marie hunched her shoulders as a shiver ran across them. “What if that man was murdered ?”
“That’s what I’m won’drin’,” Lillian said as she reached for a cookie. “An’ that’s what everybody gonna think with him layin’ out there with rakes and shovels in the dead of winter.”
“Oh my,” Etta Mae said, her eyes big, “you think that’s what happened? Who could’ve done it? And just imagine Miss Petty sleeping right across the yard while somebody was killing him. I’d never get to sleep again.”
“Now listen, you three,” I said, and right sharply too. “There is no reason to think that or even to mention it. Hazel Marie, you’re supposed to be thinking pleasant thoughts and keeping your mind off distressing subjects.”
“I know,” she said, nodding agreement. “But it’s so interesting and just
“Just that he had good taste,” Hazel Marie said. She took a sip of tea, then said, “I’d sure like to know how he ended up in Miss Petty’s toolshed.”
“Me too,” Lillian said. “You reckon he a friend of hers?”
“I hope not,” Etta Mae said, laughing. “I’d hate to be her friend if that’s her guest room.”
Even though I’d been determined not to be drawn into other people’s problems, I couldn’t help being interested in the conversation. For one thing, it distracted me from stewing over the bank’s mistake and how I could make them admit to it. “Do any of you know Miss Petty? LuAnne told me that her father used to own that hardware store downtown that closed a few years ago, but that’s all I know about her.”
“Oh, she’s real nice,” Hazel Marie said. “I met her on Parents’ Night at the school back in the fall. She was kinda quiet and mousy looking, though I hate to criticize. I remember thinking that she’d look so much better if she’d take a few pains with her hair and put on some makeup.”
“Maybe you ought to offer to do a makeover for her,” Etta Mae suggested. “You’re real good at that.”
Hazel Marie laughed. “I expect she has more on her mind than a makeover right now. She must be scared to death knowing that somebody died in her backyard. And she lives alone, doesn’t she?”
I thought about it for a minute. “She must. I know her father’s gone, and I believe her mother died years ago. She must’ve inherited the house, because LuAnne said that’s where her folks lived before they passed. I don’t know about any brothers or sisters. And I guess with her name still being Petty, she never married.”
“Speaking of names,” Etta Mae said, her eyes bright with a sudden thought, “if that man had on a decent suit, wouldn’t he have had a billfold or something? I mean, some kind of identification on him?”
“You would think so,” I said, realizing that Etta Mae had asked an astute question, taking us right back to that dead body. “Yet the paper said he was unidentified.”
“Hm,” she said. “Maybe they know who he is but just haven’t released the name. They do that, you know, so they can notify the family first.”
“Then all we have to do,” Lillian chimed in, “is ride around till we see who got a black wreath on they door.”
“Well,” Hazel Marie said, as if she hadn’t heard the intervening comments. “All I know is that Miss Petty had nice things to say about Lloyd—what a good student he is and how polite he is—so she must be a nice person.”
“Except,” I said, “when she yells at the students in class. At least that’s what Lloyd told me, but it sounded as if she has reason to yell at times. Still, that means she’s not quite as quiet and mousy as she looks.”
Lillian said, “I’m waitin’ on Lloyd to get home. I bet he gonna know all they is to know.”
“I bet he will!” I said, as we all laughed. “That school will be rife with rumors and speculations and wrongheaded theories. I just don’t want him to get too wrapped up in what’s going on.”
Hazel Marie hunched her shoulders as a shiver ran across them. “What if that man was murdered ?”
“That’s what I’m won’drin’,” Lillian said as she reached for a cookie. “An’ that’s what everybody gonna think with him layin’ out there with rakes and shovels in the dead of winter.”
“Oh my,” Etta Mae said, her eyes big, “you think that’s what happened? Who could’ve done it? And just imagine Miss Petty sleeping right across the yard while somebody was killing him. I’d never get to sleep again.”
“Now listen, you three,” I said, and right sharply too. “There is no reason to think that or even to mention it. Hazel Marie, you’re supposed to be thinking pleasant thoughts and keeping your mind off distressing subjects.”
“I know,” she said, nodding agreement. “But it’s so interesting and just
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