Mausoleum Read Online Free Page B

assignees?”
    â€œTheir names.”
    We were having our regular Tuesday afternoon tea at a marble topped table set in the bay window of her dining room, as we had had the majority of Tuesdays since I was old enough to talk.
    â€œNo I can’t,” she said.
    â€œConnie, I would not ask if it wasn’t important. The Cemetery Association got the idea in its collective head to pay me to look into Mr. Grose’s murder. It sounds a little loony, but they’ve got big problems with that court case. I have to meet with them tonight. The smarter I go in, the better I can serve them.”
    Connie looked away. Her jaw started to work. I could see frail bone press thin skin. When she turned back to look at me her eyes were watery. “I can’t Ben. I would if I could, but I can’t remember.”
    I could have cheerfully shot myself at that moment. Or shoved a rusty knife into my chest. One of the ways I dealt with Connie’s increasing frailty was to pretend it wasn’t happening. I was so successful at it that I could actually walk into her house and ask something truly stupid while totally missing every quiet signal she was sending about her fear and dread.
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was what you meant.”
    â€œObviously, I heard it from someone. I can’t remember whom. And I can’t remember what she said.”
    â€œSo you heard from a woman?”
    That brought her back with a vengeance. She sat straighter than usual, which was very straight indeed and said, as crisply as a winter morning, “Well I certainly wouldn’t listen to such talk from a man—well, maybe from a gay man—well, you know what I mean. But I don’t think it matters, Ben. A name that would have led to a shooting, a murder for pity sake, would have stuck in my mind. Don’t you agree?”
    â€œAbsolutely!” I lied to her and myself.
    Connie squinted through me like a dirty window. “Do not patronize me, young man!”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œTry some.”
    â€œTry some what?”
    â€œNames, you ninny. Try some names, and perhaps they’ll jog my memory.”
    I looked at her. She was perched on the edge of her chair, tea forgotten, the one cucumber sandwich I had persuaded her to try, half eaten. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
    â€œYou said it was important, for your sake. And it’s now become important to me, for the sake of my old brain.”
    I started at the head of Main and worked my way down the street. “Mary…”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLori…”
    â€œNo.”
    Betty.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSydney…”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œJeanne…”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnne Marie.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œPriscilla…”
    â€œâ€¦Maybe.”
    Priscilla Adams, pugnacious Dan’s wife. Maybe that’s why he was so prickly, of late. Priscilla was a very nice looking blonde with the kind of glossy, straight hair pharmaceutical fortunes have been spent trying to replicate for ordinary mortals. But married to the sort of man who would not think twice about punching the interloper in the nose. On the other hand, love and sex make people brave, as well as silly. “Maybe?” I coaxed.
    Connie nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so—Benjamin, this goes no further than this room.”
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œUnless of course Dan was the one who shot him.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI’m not positive. And when we’re talking about angry husbands shooting, accuracy becomes paramount. More names, please.”
    â€œLorraine.”
    â€œOh yes.”
    â€œLorraine? Lorraine Renner?”
    â€œDefinitely! I heard an earful.”
    â€œDo you recall any details?”
    â€œNothing true.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œIt was just silly gossip. You know, Ben, there are people who can’t imagine a man and