Shakespeare's Trollop by Charlaine Harris Page B

had had an inkling she would be finding items like this, and maybe she’d decided she couldn’t risk any of her friends she saw socially having a peek at her daughter’s playthings. Maybe Lacey was not quite as oblivious as she seemed.
    I was glad I’d followed the sheriff’s hints, glad I was the one to dispose of the items now in the box marked with my name. Lacey might happen upon a thing or two I’d missed, but there wasn’t any point in grinding her face in her daughter’s misbehavior.
    I began to think better of Marta Schuster. She’d gotten rid of most of the pictures, so now they wouldn’t be added to the local lore; and she’d warned me about the other stuff, so I’d had a chance to get it out of sight before Lacey had had to look at it. We couldn’t block her from all knowledge, but we could dispose of a lot of the more graphic evidence.
    By noon, when I had to go, we’d accomplished a lot. I’d emptied the closet and the chests in the larger bedroom, and made a beginning on the closet in the spare bedroom. Lacey had packed most of the kitchen items and some of the towels in the bathroom. I’d made five or six trips to the Dumpster in the parking lot.
    A life couldn’t be dismantled so quickly, but we’d made quite a start on Deedra’s.
    As I picked up the labeled box and my purse, Lacey asked me when I had more time to spare, and I realized that now I had Friday mornings open, since my client was dead.
    â€œI can meet you here on Friday,” I said. “Early as you want.”
    â€œThat would be great. Eight o’clock too early?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œI’ll see you then,” Lacey said, “and maybe before Friday I can have Jerrell come over with his truck and get some of these boxes delivered, so we’ll have more room to work.”
    She sounded detached, but I knew that couldn’t be true. Numb was probably more accurate.
    â€œExcuse me,” I began, and then I hesitated. “When will the funeral be?”
    â€œWe’re hoping to get her back here in time for a funeral on Saturday,” Lacey said.
    As I carried the box down the stairs, I returned to a familiar worry. I’d have to get another regular client for Friday mornings. I’d had Deedra and the Winthrops on Friday; then the Winthrops had dropped me, and now Deedra was dead. My financial future was looking grimmer by the week.
    I was supposed to meet my friend Carrie Thrush at her office; Carrie had said she’d bring a bag lunch for us both. I got in my car, stowing the box in the backseat. Minutes later, I glanced at my watch to find I was running a little late, because I had to find a business Dumpster on the other side of Shakespeare, one that wasn’t too visible, and deposit the box of sex paraphernalia after removing the two jackets. I was certain no one saw me. By the time I turned in to Carrie’s office, I assumed she’d be in her office, fussing over food growing cold.
    But when I pulled down the small driveway marked STAFF PARKING ONLY , Carrie was standing in the little graveled lot behind her clinic, where she and her nurses parked their cars.
    â€œWant to go somewhere with me?” Carrie’s smile was stiff and self-conscious. She was wearing white, but it wasn’t her lab coat, I realized after a second’s scrutiny. She was wearing a white dress with a lacy white collar. I could feel my eyebrows draw together in a frown.
    I didn’t remember ever seeing Carrie in a dress, except at a funeral. Or a wedding.
    â€œWhat?” I asked sharply.
    â€œGo with me to the courthouse?”
    â€œFor?”
    Her face scrunched up, causing her glasses to slide down her small nose.
    Carrie had on makeup. And her hair wasn’t pulled back behind her ears, as she usually wore it at work. It swung forward in shining brown wings.
    â€œFor?” I asked more