Larceny and Old Lace Read Online Free

Abigail. I didn’t even want to touch her, but I did. I tried to feel for a pulse on her wrists and her neck, but I couldn’t find any. When the paramedics arrived, they confirmed it. Was she saved, Abigail?”
    I bit my tongue. I was raised Episcopalian. Words like “saved” and “born again” make me uncomfortable.
    â€œShe went to church, regularly,” I said.
    â€œWell, if she was saved, then we can all rejoice. She went to be with the Lord. Right now she’s probably singing with the angels, or maybe out walking them golden streets. Looking for her mansion. Whatever she’s doing, you can be sure she’s having a wonderful time.”
    â€œI’m sure she is,” I said dryly. “What did the police have to say?”
    â€œThe police?”
    â€œYou know, the men in blue.”
    â€œYes, well, the police asked me a bunch of questions. Was I alone when I found her? What did I touch? How well did I know her? That sort of thing.”
    â€œDid they have any ideas who might have done it?”
    She coughed again. “You don’t think they’d tell me if they did, do you? Except of course that whoever done it left that bell pull behind.”
    â€œThey said that?”
    â€œNot exactly. But then again, that’s obvious. Your aunt didn’t have anything like that in her shop. Her stuff was all—you know—junk.”
    I thanked Anita for calling. Perhaps I was a little curt, butthat woman gets under my skin easier than fat cells. It was still sinking in that Aunt Eulonia was dead, and Anita already had her traipsing about heaven inspecting real estate. And there certainly was no need for Anita to bad-mouth a dead woman’s merchandise.
    The phone was on its hook three seconds before it rang again. I answered.
    â€œI don’t have time for this, Aunt Marilyn. If you want, I’ll move out tomorrow and take those camellias with me. Right now I’ve got more important things on my mind.”
    â€œMrs. Wiggins?” a male voice asked.
    I glanced at Mama. She was sitting now and looked as pale as the pork chop bones.
    â€œThis is her daughter, Abigail Timberlake. May I take a message?”
    There was a pause, accompanied by what sounded like papers rustling. “Well, yes, you’ll do just fine. Even better maybe. I’m Detective—”
    â€œIs this about my aunt, Eulonia Wiggins?”
    He was silent for a few seconds. “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
    I let the detective tell me his version of the story. Since Anita was the source for most of it, his story matched hers pretty well. He, however, said nothing about the bell pull belonging to my aunt’s killer. Neither did he try and paint pictures of her cavorting in heaven.
    â€œI’d like to come around tomorrow and ask you a few questions,” he said, without giving me a chance to ask any of my own.
    â€œYou mean to my shop?”
    â€œThe Den of Antiquity, right?”
    â€œYes, sir. What time?”
    â€œPick a time. Maybe when you generally have the least customers. That way we won’t disturb them, and they won’t disturb us.” The words sounded ominous, but the voice didn’t.
    â€œWell, I don’t know. Business tends to be pretty steady. I open the shop at nine, and I close it at five. You could come before or after those hours.”
    â€œHow about over the lunch hour? Don’t things slow down a bit then?”
    â€œTwelve would be fine.”
    â€œSorry ma’am. I’ll be on another case then. I was thinking more like one o’clock.”
    â€œWell, uh, you see—I mean—”
    â€œDon’t tell me I forgot! Today is Erica’s tenth wedding?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œOn All My Children . I thought Dmitri would hang on to her longer than that.”
    â€œWell, it wasn’t his fault!” I caught myself. Staring me in the