Death Climbs a Tree Read Online Free

Walcher and walked carefully past the bulldozer tracks and stumps to the car. Not a good time to fall on her face. Andrew, with his surefooted boots and long legs, reached the Honda ahead of her, but her dignity was intact. She watched him open the hatch and stick the bags in the back. Don’t break, she begged the bags. Please don’t break!

3
    On the way back to town, she asked him, “Where are you going to dump that stuff?”
    â€œDon’t worry, Mom. I’ll take care of it.” He reconsidered. “You mind if I throw her laundry in with mine? She won’t have much.”
    Her Andrew, volunteering to do laundry? Had he fallen for Sylvia? Or only her environmental cause?
    â€œGo right ahead.”
    He flipped his cell phone open. “Sylvia? You okay?” He listened. “Nah, I think he’s all bark. But if you have any trouble with Walcher or anybody else, you call.… Sure, me or Skirv or any of the others. We’ll be there in a flash.… Uh-huh. See you.” And he tucked the phone away.
    Didn’t sound like a guy calling a woman who interested him. She supposed Skirv could be the percussion player she knew from the orchestra, but as unreliable as he was, she’d hate to need him for anything important. And she couldn’t imagine him standing up to Tom Walcher.
    â€œAndrew, do you think you could get out there in time to stop any trouble?”
    â€œIf you could lend me the car, maybe. It’s not as if you used it during the day.”
    Joan felt herself being sucked deeper and deeper.
    â€œDon’t get into something you can’t handle.”
    He laughed. “Walcher? You saw him. You called his bluff with Fred, and he folded.”
    She wished she could be so sure. She pulled up at the Oliver Senior Citizens’ Center and left the motor running. “I’ll walk home—you leave the car there. If you need it for a real emergency, call the center and let me know. Leave a message if I don’t answer.”
    â€œThanks, Mom.” He unfolded himself from the passenger seat and came around to take her place behind the wheel. “That reminds me. Rebecca called earlier. Nothing special, she said. She’s fine. Just kind of checking in.”
    â€œDoes she want me to call back?”
    â€œNope. Just said to tell you she loved you.”
    That was something. For years her daughter wouldn’t have made such a call. Nowadays, she even made noises about coming home to Oliver to be married, whenever she and the concert violinist to whom she was engaged got around to it. Joan would call her, but not now. She was already tight for time.
    She stood at the door to the center and watched Andrew drive off. It felt strange to arrive at work in a car. At least she wouldn’t miss out on walking home.
    â€œTrouble at home?” Annie Jordan asked when Joan went in. Annie was a stalwart at the center who answered the phone and did whatever else was needed without thought of payment for her services. This morning she was sitting at Joan’s desk, an Aran pullover taking shape under her ever-present knitting needles and crooked, arthritic fingers. She reached up to stick a cable needle into the white bun on her head.
    Joan checked her watch. Late enough that she probably should have called ahead. Well, there had to be some perks to being the center’s director. “No, we’re fine. I went out to see the tree sitter who was in the paper this morning. She’s one of my violinists.”
    â€œI saw that article. Can you imagine doing that?” Annie hardly looked at the complicated pattern she was creating in yarn.
    â€œI can now. I drove out there with Andrew. He took her some food.”
    â€œHe sweet on her?”
    â€œHard to tell these days.” Joan kept her voice casual, but she knew it wouldn’t fool Annie. “I don’t think so.” I hope not, she thought. She’s much too old for