There was an Old Woman Read Online Free Page B

everything.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMissus money-britches. You know: Harlan Ravenswood’s girl. Mrs. Orv Wishart.”
    â€œOh!” I said, mainly to stop the bombardment. “That Antonia Wishart. Glad to know.” The Ravenswoods were the local media family: they owned the Beacon and the radio and TV stations.
    She stood watching Rupe inspect his rare collection of empty crystal goblets for a few minutes before saying his name gently. His chin came up. There was no smile on his face. Who likes being found out, traced to one’s hideaway, photographed in living colour with one’s pants down? Not McLay, anyway. Soon they were yelling at one another. Soon there was broken glass on the floor and Antonia Wishart was heading for the door full of sudden resolve and anger, while McLay ordered more beer with a smile that successfully covered his anger and guilt. The waiter brought a single draft and swept up the glass.
    I went over to the bar to talk and buy some chips. From the woman behind it I learned some home truths about the idiocy of some women who have it in their minds to save some men from themselves. I also learned that Ev, short for Evelyn, wasn’t herself but her absenthusband. She was May. She had married Ev after the Renovation. She said Renovation like it was the Renaissance or the Inquisition. She also confided that Bill, the waiter, was depressed because Ev intended to close down the pub in the New Year. I got her talking about Liz Oldridge.
    â€œLiz was a peculiar old ’un, all right,” May said. “She drank too much and never in ten years did I see her eat anything. Kogan looked out for her as well as he could. You know Kogan?” I nodded that I did. “She never had any money and Kogan was next to the poorhouse himself. He stood by her, though. I have to give him that.”
    May could tell me little more about Liz or Kogan or what had happened. “They let her die!” she said, waving her hand in an indictment of us all. When I asked about Ramsden, she could add nothing to what I’d heard at the court-house, except that he was above drinking at the Nag’s Head.
    At the sound of the name “Ramsden,” I thought I saw Rupe McLay’s head rise from its stare into nothingness for a moment. I carried my chips back to my beer. Then I got busy with some thoughts of my own. I didn’t see McLay get up and carry one of his drafts across the floor to my table. The first I knew of it was feeling the balance of the table top shift. When I looked up it was into that grey, lined face.
    â€œYou mind?” he said, trying to bring me into focus.
    â€œCompany’s always welcome, Mr. McLay.”
    â€œWhat’s your interest in Liz Oldridge?” He had some difficulty getting the syllables in Liz’s name in the right order.
    â€œâ€˜Interest’ is dressing up idle curiosity,” I said. Then I thought, What the hell? “I’m making a few inquiries for a friend of mine. You know Victor Kogan?”
    â€œKogan? Yes, I know him. A man of hidden deps— depths, of most excellent fancy.”
    â€œHe thinks Liz was starved to death on purpose.”
    â€œHe say for what purpose or who did it?”
    â€œYeah, he says they did it. They kept her away from her money. They got an injunction to keep him away from her. They has a lot to answer for. From what I heard this morning at the court-house, they seems to be Thurleigh Ramsden.”
    â€œWouldn’t argue with that, Mr. Cooperman. What the hell’s your first name? It’s Sam, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo. That’s my big brother. I’m Ben.”
    â€œBen! Or more correctly, Benny! Yes, I’ve heard about you.”
    â€œAnd I about you. Grantham’s a small world. Did you know Liz?”
    â€œKnew her dead brother. He was my age. We were in Korea together. I saw Lizzy from time to time. She was far gone when I saw her last. I didn’t