The Blood Lie Read Online Free

smoke made her cough this time.
    â€œSorry,” Lydie said, rubbing her cousin’s back. “Sorry to spout off like that. Didn’t mean to make you have a fit.”
    â€œI’m okay. I’m glad you told me. I should have figured it out for myself. It’s just, you know, thinking about the accident and all…well…Ma wanted us home by 12:30 and it’s past that now. We should go.”
    â€œRight.”
    Lydie and Emaline dropped their cigarettes and stamped them out with their feet. “Here, I have some Lifesavers,” Lydie said. “Take one. Aunt Jenna will have a cow if she finds out what’s been keeping us.”

    Mrs. Durham was heating a venison stew when the cousins walked in. “Finally,” she said, pulling her hair back and leaning down to breathe in the gamey aroma. “Ah, that’s perfect.”
    â€œI’m starving, Ma,” Emaline said.
    â€œWash up and I’ll get you some. Say, what’s in the box?” She lifted the lid and examined the hat from different angles. A tall, statuesque redhead—people said she looked like President Coolidge’s wife—she had a good eye for fashion and was always smartly dressed. “Very nice. Perfect for the autumn. By the way, Daisy was right behind you, wasn’t she?”
    â€œNo,” Emaline said.
    â€œI just sent her out to call you. Told her you could all have lunch together. I thought that’s why you came.”
    â€œWe just got here, is all. Plus I’m famished.”
    â€œYou must have crossed paths then. Well, she’ll be along when she’s done straggling.”
    Mrs. Durham sprinkled the stew with a medley of herbs and salt that she kept in an old milk bottle. She loved milk bottles and used them to hold everything from flowers to spices to the occasional pollywog. They were her closest connection to her Frank, who’d run the Sweet Creamery Dairy with his brother, and she kept them in every room.
    She ladled out two bowls of stew and set them on the table. “All right, clean up after yourselves, girls. I have some bulbs to plant out front. I think I’ll just give Daisy a shout first.” She opened the back door and made a long, low whistle.

    Gus Poulos was standing behind the register at the Sit Down Diner counting the dollar bills, while Sarah Gelman took inventory in the pantry and Tiny, the cook, stood over the deep-fryer.
    â€œTwenty-three,” Gus said to no one as he bit down on his cigar. “Twenty-three miserable little clams. And that’s before you take out wages. For this I left Salonika?”
    â€œYou say something?” called Tiny.
    â€œYeah. I want you to tell me where to find the glittering gold roads and the marble sidewalks people told me about when I was a kid.”
    â€œDon’t I know it?” Tiny said in his Irish brogue. “We all think we’re going to live the life here, and we end up just barely getting by.”
    â€œAmen to that.” Gus started to light a fresh cigar when the diner door jangled open and Roy Royman limped in. Royman hobbled to a stool at the counter and leaned his walking stick against the railing. “Morning,” he said.
    â€œYou’re late,” Gus said.
    â€œHey, Tiny, whatcha cooking back there?”
    â€œShepherd’s pie, meatloaf, doughnuts about to come out of the fryer. You want?”
    â€œAny hash browns left?”
    Tiny shook his head.
    â€œEh, give me a slab of meatloaf, and save me a couple doughnuts, plain.”
    Gus led Royman to the table nearest the noisy window fan.

    â€œWe on for tonight?” Royman asked.
    â€œRum boat’ll be here between midnight and two, depending.”
    â€œDepending on what?”
    Gus shrugged. “Depending on everything. Anyhow, get the truck here by eleven-thirty.”
    â€œWhy’s it got to be so late, that’s what I don’t understand,” Royman said.