Миранда Джеймс - Bless Her Dead Little Heart

Diesel chirped to remind Benjy that he needed attention, and Benjy resumed scratching the cat’s head.

Dickce assumed that the nickname referred to the boy’s stepfather, Wade Thurmond. No love lost there , she reckoned. Then she wondered what kind of mother would tell her child such a thing. Her already low opinion of Marla Stephens plummeted even further.

“We don’t usually lock it,” Dickce said, her tone gentle. “I’m afraid there is no more room in the house. You’re welcome to stay here, but you’ll have to share with Mr. Pittman.” The apartment contained a double bed and a large sofa, and the two ought to be comfortable enough here. “I’m sorry about the dust, but we haven’t had the place aired and cleaned in months.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Junior said. “A little dust isn’t going to bother me. I don’t have any allergies.”

Benjy snorted. “Me either. Mom would have a fit, though, if she had to sleep in here. She’s allergic to all kinds of weird stuff.”

Dickce nodded. “Yes, I believe she did mention her allergies.”

“She would.” Benjy rolled his eyes before gesturing at Diesel. “What’s his name, and what kind of cat is he?”

“His name is Diesel, and he’s a Maine Coon.” Dickce smiled fondly at the cat. “He is visiting with my sister and me while his family vacations in France.”

“I’ve never seen a house cat that big before,” Junior said. “Does he have some kind of glandular problem?”

“Your grandmother asked the same question. No, he’s perfectly healthy,” Dickce replied. “Maine Coons are generally larger than most breeds, but Diesel is exceptional, and not just because of his size.”

The cat warbled, his gaze fixed on Dickce, and the two men laughed.

“He agrees with you,” Benjy said.

“He’s smarter than some people I know,” Dickce said. “He certainly seems to like you.” She found it interesting that the cat had taken to Benjy so quickly. Diesel had an excellent record as a judge of character, and Dickce hoped he hadn’t made an error in this case.

“He can tell I like animals,” Benjy replied. “I want to be a veterinarian, if I can get enough money to finish college.”

“He has two spiders,” Junior said. He shook his head. “They give me the creeps.”

“They’re tarantulas, and they’re not poisonous,” Benjy said, his tone sharp. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He rolled his eyes at Dickce. “Bert and Ernie wouldn’t hurt anyone, as long as they’re left alone. At least my mother isn’t allergic to them, like she is with dogs and cats.”

Dickce wasn’t that fond of spiders herself, but she admired Benjy’s willingness to care for such creatures. “You’ll probably find a few spiders here,” she said. She glanced at Junior and wasn’t surprised to see him grimace.

“Don’t worry, Junior.” Benjy grinned. “I won’t let them bite you.”

Junior muttered under his breath, and Dickce figured it was just as well she couldn’t make out the words. “You’ll need fresh linens for the bed and towels for the bathroom. If one of you would like to come back to the house with me, I’ll get them for you.”

“We’ll both come,” Junior said with a stern glance at Benjy. “My mother and Aunt Bernice need help with their bags, and I have to get my own.”

Benjy shrugged. “Might as well.”

“Come along, then, and we’ll all have something cold to drink before you have to start carrying bags.” Dickce turned for the stairs. Diesel, ever alert, scampered down ahead of her.

“That sounds great,” Benjy said from right behind her. “Any chance of a snack before dinner?”

Diesel warbled, and Dickce giggled. “I’m sure we can find you something, Benjy,” she said as she stepped outside. “Diesel would like a snack, too. Wouldn’t you?”

The cat chirped with enthusiasm, and the men laughed. Satisfied that Junior had shut the apartment door properly, Dickce led men and feline across the drive toward the kitchen door. In the kitchen, she found Clementine busy preparing dinner.

“Something smells awesome.” Benjy sniffed appreciatively.

Clementine glanced at the newcomers curiously but didn’t respond. An’gel, busy at another counter filling glasses with ice, stopped when she realized there was a stranger with Dickce.

Dickce grinned at her sister. “An’gel, we have another guest. This is Benjy Stephens, Marla’s son. We found him in the garage apartment.” She paused. “Evidently his mother told him he should go there instead of coming into the house with her and her husband.”

An’gel frowned as Benjy stepped forward, hand extended. “Nice to meet you, Miss Ducote,” he said. “Sorry if I caused any trouble.”

An’gel accepted the young man’s hand. “Mr. Stephens, I don’t see how you could be at fault by simply doing as your mother told you. I trust my sister made you feel welcome.”

“I brought them over to fetch fresh linens and towels,” Dickce said, her tone bright and cheery. “Mr. Pittman mentioned also that he wanted to help his mother and his aunts with their luggage.”

“There will be time enough for that later,” An’gel said as she reached into the nearby cabinet for more glasses. “Why don’t you join me and your family in the front parlor? I thought we could all use a cold drink about now.”

“That sounds good to me,” Benjy said, and Junior nodded.

“May I carry that for you?” Benjy stepped forward and reached for the tray An’gel had picked up.

An’gel smiled as she relinquished her burden. “Thank you. I’ll show you the way.”

Dickce felt oddly pleased at this show of manners on Benjy’s part. She had taken a liking to this young man, despite his uncouth manner of dressing.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” she said. She wanted to find a snack for Benjy. She knew young men his age often had voracious appetites, and she wouldn’t mind a few nibbles herself.

Benjy, An’gel, and Junior left the room. Diesel stayed behind. He sat near her feet and stared up expectantly.

Dickce grinned. “You know what I’m doing, you rascal. But I’m afraid there won’t be any tidbits for you.”

Diesel chirped and then turned to sit with his back to her.

Clementine chuckled. “Cats sure have a funny way of pouting, don’t they? My grandbaby Lawanna does the same thing.”

“It’s so cute,” Dickce said. “Are there any of those oatmeal raisin cookies left?”

“Should be, unless Miss An’gel got into them last night.” Clementine gestured toward the counter, where a cookie jar in the shape of a potbellied dog sat.

“She didn’t, as far as I know.” Dickce walked over to pull off the lid and peer inside. Her sister had a weakness for Clementine’s cookies, but she had also been watching her weight lately. Dickce was pleased to see the jar was still nearly full.

She found a serving tray and a paper doily, then arranged two dozen cookies on it. She noticed Diesel at her feet, gazing expectantly up at her. “No, sir, these are not for you. I think you’d better stay in the kitchen with Clementine so you won’t be begging.” She glanced at the housekeeper. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Clementine smiled. “No, he’s fine here with me. Besides, he’s gonna be more interested in the fried c-h-i-c-k-e-n anyway.”

Diesel warbled and transferred his attention to the housekeeper.

Dickce laughed. “I have a feeling he knows how to spell.” She headed out the door and down the hall to the front parlor.

She had neared the foot of the stairs when she heard a woman cry out from above her. Startled, she looked up the staircase in time to see Marla Stephens rolling down.