hospice bed, and turned her face to the wall.
Edie gritted her teeth. “Please,” she begged. “You’re the only person who can tell me now, the only one left.” Her voice cracked. Tears of anger and frustration began to sting, and Edie swiped at her eyes.
With a grunt of pain, Aunt Penny turned to face her niece. “You’ll be all right, cookie,” she whispered. “You’re strong. You’ll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” Edie said. “You’re not the one who’ll be alone.”
Her aunt managed a choked cackle. “I’ll be the one dead.”
“You and everyone else.”
Her aunt patted the bed weakly. Edie sat, and her aunt took her hand. “Why do you tramp through the world with your fists up? Don’t you know there are some things can’t be changed? No matter how hard we wish for them.”
“I just want to know what happened. Please.”
“All right. Don’t have the strength to battle with you anymore. Though I don’t think it’ll bring you much peace.”
And after all the times she’d asked, Penny had finally given her what she wanted. A week later she was dead. Edie stayed to see her buried, packed up the apartment, gave away her clothes. A month after the funeral she pulled into Redbud. Alone, adrift, and ready for payback.
“If you’re serious about buying, I’m sure you could do better than this.” Holt pushed the tire remnant, and they watched it swing.
“If I had the cash, you mean.”
“If you had the brains,” Holt corrected.
Just then the voice called out, thick with false cheer. “Halloo?”
“Back here,” Edie shouted.
A small, energetic man with a golf course tan emerged around the corner. He wasn’t young, but he was well-preserved. Expensively dressed. And the hand he extended to shake had a thick gold bracelet on it.
“Miss Swann? Dennis Runkle.” A wide smile accompanied Runkle’s outstretched hand. He looked from her to Holt. “Nice to see you, too, Chief. Problem?”
Holt shook his head. “Just making sure you don’t sell Miss Swann a bill of goods.”
Runkle chuckled. “Oh, I warned Miss Swann about the condition of this property. And she said she was looking for something out of the way.”
“I like to work on my bike,” Edie said to Holt, using the explanation she’d given Runkle. “Too many neighbors complain about the noise.”
Holt seemed satisfied with that, but he cautioned Runkle on keeping the house maintained and Edie on purchasing it. “Buyer beware,” he told her.
When he was gone, Runkle turned to Edie. “Front or back?”
She chose the front and he guided her to the door. “Watch your step, here, young lady.” Runkle inserted the key, had a little trouble with it sticking, but eventually got the door open.
Suddenly she was surrounded by the familiar and unfamiliar. Roses still clung to the walls, but the wallpaper was dirty and faded. Nothing like the bright, airy foyer she remembered. Instead of the homey smell of Sunday dinner, the air was stuffy and reeked of mold. And the house was much smaller. As a child it had seemed gigantic to her. Now it was stunted and dwarfed by time.
She followed the real estate agent to the kitchen. A rust stain marred Grandma’s sparkly-white porcelain sink.
“Not much to look at,” Runkle said.
She pulled at the oven door, and it opened with a squeak. “Well, I don’t cook much.” She remembered chicken swimming in a sea of gravy. Mashed potatoes. Her mother smiling as they sat down. Her father holding the chair for Aunt Penny.
“Want to see the rest?”
He led her up the stairs to the bedrooms, and she ventured her first real question.
“So who owns this place now? Why’d they let it get so dilapidated?”
“Not much going on this side of town. House hasn’t been lived in for a long time. Twenty, thirty years ago used to be the Bellinghams lived here. Old Mrs. Bellingham died and the property was sold to settle the estate. I bought it five or six years ago, kind of a
Edie gritted her teeth. “Please,” she begged. “You’re the only person who can tell me now, the only one left.” Her voice cracked. Tears of anger and frustration began to sting, and Edie swiped at her eyes.
With a grunt of pain, Aunt Penny turned to face her niece. “You’ll be all right, cookie,” she whispered. “You’re strong. You’ll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” Edie said. “You’re not the one who’ll be alone.”
Her aunt managed a choked cackle. “I’ll be the one dead.”
“You and everyone else.”
Her aunt patted the bed weakly. Edie sat, and her aunt took her hand. “Why do you tramp through the world with your fists up? Don’t you know there are some things can’t be changed? No matter how hard we wish for them.”
“I just want to know what happened. Please.”
“All right. Don’t have the strength to battle with you anymore. Though I don’t think it’ll bring you much peace.”
And after all the times she’d asked, Penny had finally given her what she wanted. A week later she was dead. Edie stayed to see her buried, packed up the apartment, gave away her clothes. A month after the funeral she pulled into Redbud. Alone, adrift, and ready for payback.
“If you’re serious about buying, I’m sure you could do better than this.” Holt pushed the tire remnant, and they watched it swing.
“If I had the cash, you mean.”
“If you had the brains,” Holt corrected.
Just then the voice called out, thick with false cheer. “Halloo?”
“Back here,” Edie shouted.
A small, energetic man with a golf course tan emerged around the corner. He wasn’t young, but he was well-preserved. Expensively dressed. And the hand he extended to shake had a thick gold bracelet on it.
“Miss Swann? Dennis Runkle.” A wide smile accompanied Runkle’s outstretched hand. He looked from her to Holt. “Nice to see you, too, Chief. Problem?”
Holt shook his head. “Just making sure you don’t sell Miss Swann a bill of goods.”
Runkle chuckled. “Oh, I warned Miss Swann about the condition of this property. And she said she was looking for something out of the way.”
“I like to work on my bike,” Edie said to Holt, using the explanation she’d given Runkle. “Too many neighbors complain about the noise.”
Holt seemed satisfied with that, but he cautioned Runkle on keeping the house maintained and Edie on purchasing it. “Buyer beware,” he told her.
When he was gone, Runkle turned to Edie. “Front or back?”
She chose the front and he guided her to the door. “Watch your step, here, young lady.” Runkle inserted the key, had a little trouble with it sticking, but eventually got the door open.
Suddenly she was surrounded by the familiar and unfamiliar. Roses still clung to the walls, but the wallpaper was dirty and faded. Nothing like the bright, airy foyer she remembered. Instead of the homey smell of Sunday dinner, the air was stuffy and reeked of mold. And the house was much smaller. As a child it had seemed gigantic to her. Now it was stunted and dwarfed by time.
She followed the real estate agent to the kitchen. A rust stain marred Grandma’s sparkly-white porcelain sink.
“Not much to look at,” Runkle said.
She pulled at the oven door, and it opened with a squeak. “Well, I don’t cook much.” She remembered chicken swimming in a sea of gravy. Mashed potatoes. Her mother smiling as they sat down. Her father holding the chair for Aunt Penny.
“Want to see the rest?”
He led her up the stairs to the bedrooms, and she ventured her first real question.
“So who owns this place now? Why’d they let it get so dilapidated?”
“Not much going on this side of town. House hasn’t been lived in for a long time. Twenty, thirty years ago used to be the Bellinghams lived here. Old Mrs. Bellingham died and the property was sold to settle the estate. I bought it five or six years ago, kind of a
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