Charlaine Harris - A Bone To Pick

“So I didn’t advise him,” Mother was continuing, “but he thought out loud when he was trying to figure out what was fair to do.”

“You’re the obvious person for input when it comes to real estate questions.”

“Well, he did ask me the value of the house on the current market.”

“And?”.

“I had it appraised, and I think-now I don’t know, but I think-he gave John David the cash value of the house, and deeded over the house to Avery.”

“So John David didn’t want the house at all?”

“No, his work requires that he transfer every few years, and it didn’t make sense for him to own a house in Lawrenceton.”

“That worked out well.”

“Now I’m going to tell you what I did about my house.”

“Oh, Mom!” I protested.

“No,” she said firmly. “You need to know this.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly.

“I think a man needs to know he has a home that’s his,” she said. “And since John gave up his house, I have left him mine for his lifetime. So if I die before John, he gets to stay in the house until he dies. I thought that was only right. But, after John passes away, it’s yours to do with as you will, of course.”

This was just my season for having things willed to me. Suddenly I realized that Mother would leave me her business and her money, as well as the house; with Jane’s money, and her little house, too, I need never work another day in my life.

What a startling prospect.

“Whatever you do is fine with me,” I said hastily, aware that Mother was looking at me in a funny way. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We’ll have to sometime,” Mother warned.

What was with her today? Had getting remarried somehow awakened or reinforced her feelings of her own mortality? Was it signing the prenuptial agreement with all these arrangements for what would happen after her death? She was just back from her honeymoon. She should be feeling pretty frisky.

“Why are you talking about all this now?” I asked bluntly.

She considered this. “I don’t know,” she said in a puzzled way. “I certainly didn’t come here expecting to talk about it. I was going to tell you about the hotel and the beach and the tour we took, but somehow I got sidetracked. Maybe when we talked about what Jane Engle left you, I started thinking about what I was going to leave you. Though, of course, now you won’t need it as badly. It does seem strange to me that Jane left all her money and property to someone who isn’t even a member of the family, someone who wasn’t even that close a friend.”

“It seems strange to me, too, Mom,” I admitted. I didn’t want to tell my mother that Jane had left everything to me because she saw me starting out like her, single and bookish, and maybe Jane had seen something else in me that struck a chord with her; we were both fascinated by death between the pages of a book. “And it’s going to seem strange to a lot of other people.”

She thought about that for a little. She waited delicately to see if I would enlighten her about Jane’s motives.

“I’m glad for you,” Mother said after a minute, seeing I wasn’t going to offer any more information about my relationship with Jane. “And I don’t expect we have to worry about what people say.”

“Thanks.”

“I’d better get back to my sick husband,” Mother said fondly.

How strange it was to hear that. I smiled at her without thinking about it. “I’m glad for you, too,” I told her honestly.

“I know that.” She gathered her purse and keys, and I rose to walk her to her car.

She was discussing a dinner party an old friend was planning to give for her and John, and I was wondering if I should ask to bring Aubrey, when Marcia Rideout came out of her front door. She was wearing another matched and beautifully ironed shorts set, and her hair was a little blonder, it seemed to me.

“Is that your momma I see with you?” she called when she was halfway down her drive. “Do you just have a minute?”

We both waited with polite, expectant smiles.

“Aida, you may not remember me,” Marcia said, with her head tilted coyly to one side, “but you and I were on the Fallfest committee together a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, of course,” Mother said, professional warmth in her voice. “The festival turned out very well that year, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but it was sure a lot of work, more than I ever bargained for! Listen, we’re all just so thrilled Roe is moving on our street. I don’t know if she told you yet or not, I understand you’ve been away on your honeymoon, but Torrance and I are giving Aurora and our other new neighbors”-and Marcia nodded her smooth head at the little yellow-shuttered house across the street-“a little get-together tomorrow night. We would just love it if you and your new husband could come.”

Nothing nonpluses Mother. “We’d love to, but I’m afraid John came back from the Bahamas with just a touch of flu,” she explained. “I tell you what, I may just drop in by myself for a few minutes, just to meet Aurora’s new neighbors. If my husband is feeling better, maybe he’ll come, too. Can I leave it that indefinite?”

“Oh, of course, that poor man, the flu in this pretty weather! And on his honeymoon! Bless his heart!”

“Who are the other new people on the street?” Mother inquired, to stem Marcia’s pity.

“A police detective and his brand-new wife, who is also a police detective! And she’s going to have a baby just any time now. Isn’t that exciting? I don’t think I’d ever met a real detective until they moved in, and now we have two of them on the street. We should all be real safe now! We’ve had a lot of break-ins on this street the past few years-but I’m sure your daughter is as safe as can be, now,” Marcia tacked on hastily.

“Would that detective be Arthur Smith?” Mother asked. I heard the permafrost under her words. I could feel my face begin to tighten. I had never known how much Mother knew or guessed about my relationship with Arthur, but I had a feeling she’d gotten a pretty accurate picture. I turned my face away a little under pretext of pushing up my glasses.

“Yes. He’s such a solemn young man, and handsome, too. Of course, not as handsome as the man Roe is dating.” Marcia actually winked.

“You don’t think so?” my mother said agreeably. I bit my upper lip.

“Oh, no. That minister is so tall and dark. You can tell from my marrying Torrance, I like tall, dark men. And that mustache! It may not be nice to say this about a man in the ministry, but it’s just plain sexy.”

My mother had been totting up this description. “Well, I’ll sure try to come, thanks so much for inviting me,” she said in a perfectly polite but unmistakably conclusive way.

“I’ll just go back to cleaning the house,” Marcia said brightly, and, after a chorus of good-byes, off she trotted.

“Dating Father Scott?” Mother asked when she was sure Marcia was out of earshot. “And you’re over that lousy policeman?”

“Yes to both.”

Mother looked quite unsettled for a minute. “You turned down a date with Bubba Sewell, you’re over that Arthur Smith, and you’re dating a minister,” she said wonderingly. “There’s hope for your love life after all.”

As I waved to her as she drove down the street, it was a positive satisfaction for me to think of the skull in her blanket bag.

In a burst of morning energy, I was singing in the shower when the telephone rang. Blessing answering machines, I barely paused in my rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The shower is probably the only place our national anthem should be sung, especially by people with a limited vocal range, a category that definitely includes me. As I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, I did a medley of my favorite ads. For my finale, as I toweled I warbled “Three Little Ducks.”