Murder on a Bad Hair Day
Page 25
“I hope they keep up with her,” I said.
Bo chose to ignore this.
“I’m glad she’s getting help,” Frances said.
“She’s already been in a mental hospital in California for three months,” I said.
“Being treated for depression,” Frances said. “I’d be willing to bet you, though, that Claire’s main problem is multiple personality disorder. Childhood abuse is the primary cause of it.”
“Could be,” I agreed. “The twins came by here the other day to see if I was okay and they talk about her as ‘Good Claire’ and ‘Bad Claire.’ Did you know that?”
“I think that’s what the doctor believes,” Bo said. “She has whole periods of time she doesn’t remember, times when things happened like the picture being painted and Ross Perry being shot. Both of which she did, incidentally. Turns out after her husband was shot, she bought several guns and took lessons at a rifle range.”
“She must have loved Fred Moon a lot,” Frances said. “I wonder if his work is any good?”
Bo Mitchell shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
“Well, who got her out of the hospital?” I wanted to know.
“She got herself out. Bad Claire clicked in, stronger than the medicine. We found the guy she hitched a ride with. She went to the gallery and got Mercy’s van.”
“But it was Good Claire who showed up on my doorstep.”
“Yes.”
We drank our tea and watched the birds coming to the special Christmas suet ball I had hung for them on the deck.
“You know,” Frances said. “That picture Claire painted on the bedroom wall? What if it isn’t Claire and the twins? What if it’s three Claires?”
“Drink your tea and don’t even think such a thing,” I said. “One more thing, though, Bo. Who do you think our Peeping Tom was?”
“I know who it was. Liliane. She saw your Abe painting with the hair and figured it was worth a bundle. She also saw you didn’t have dead bolt locks on your door.” Bo pointed her finger at the door accusingly. “Fortunately, your husband was sleeping on the sofa.” She took a sip of her tea. “He do that often?”
“None of your business.”
Bo Mitchell laughed. “How’s your sister?”
“She went home yesterday. She was wearing her T-shirt that says ‘Tough Old Bird.’”
“You give her my best.”
I walked Bo to the door. “You always knew it wasn’t Ross, didn’t you?”
“No, we didn’t. You were pretty convincing.”
“That’s good to hear. You have a nice Christmas.”
“And you.”
And we did. Somehow we managed to pull it all together. We didn’t go to Fox Glen for dinner because Mary Alice was still having some dizziness, which the doctor said was to be expected and was temporary. For an obscene amount of money, Fox Glen came to us with turkey and all the trimmings. Money well spent, I thought, looking around Sister’s large dining room table at our children and grandchildren. At one end of the table, Bill Adams sat, still scratching furiously but beaming at Sister, who sat at the other end, the side of her head bandaged. We were not, she informed us, to call her Vincent. She’d gotten a bait of that in the hospital.
“She could do worse,” I whispered to Fred.
“Who could do worse?” He was flirting rather sweetly with Freddie’s Celia.
“Mary Alice. With Bill.”
“How come he scratches all the time? He needs to take some Benadryl.”
I turned to talk to Haley, who was seated on my left. She had brought Sheriff Reuse, but I didn’t detect any sparks. Across the table, Debbie and Henry Lamont were sparking up a storm. None of us were surprised at their announcement as dessert was being served that they were being married in March.
“On Mama and Daddy’s anniversary,” Debbie said.
“Darling, that’s wonderful,” Mary Alice said. “When is it?” she mouthed at me as everyone congratulated Debbie and Henry. I held up the fingers on my left hand three times and then a single finger. “The sixteenth. What a sweet thought.”
Freddie stood up and I thought for a moment he was going to announce he and Celia were engaged. But he held up his wine glass and said, “To Debbie and Henry.”
We drank a toast to Debbie and Henry. My glass had sparkling apple juice in it, but I swear I could feel it. We drank a toast to Mary Alice’s health, and to my strength, and to Celia’s ability to conjure warts. We drank a toast to Bubba, whose red bow had slipped to one side, covering his ear, making him look like van Gogh’s cat.
But Fred had the nicest toast of all. Just before we dived into huge slices of pecan pie, he patted my arm and stood up.
“Hey,” he said, raising his glass. “We’re here.”
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Dr. Chandler McGee and Dr. Christina Duffey for their ideas and interest and for generously sharing their knowledge of chemistry with me. And thanks to the “Center Point” group—Jean Burnett, Elsie McKibben, and Virginia Martin—for their patience, suggestions, and laughter.
About the Author
ANNE GEORGE was the Agatha Award-winning author of eight Southern Sisters mysteries: Murder on a Girls’ Night Out, Murder on a Bad Hair Day, Murder Runs in the Family, Murder Makes Waves, Murder Gets a Life, Murder Shoots the Bull, Murder Carries a Torch, and her final book, Murder Boogies with Elvis. Her popular and hilariously funny novels reflected much of her own experiences. Like Patricia Anne, Anne George was a happily married former schoolteacher living in Birmingham, Alabama, and she grew up with a delightful cutup cousin who provided plenty of inspiration for the outrageous Mary Alice. A former Alabama State Poet, cofounder of Druid Press, and a regular contributor to literary and poetry publications, Ms. George was also the author of a literary novel, This One and Magic Life, which Publishers Weekly described as “silky and lyrical.” She had been nominated for several awards, including the Pulitzer for a book of verse entitled Some of It Is True. Anne George passed away in March 2001.
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Praise for ANNE GEORGE’s
Southern Sisters Mysteries
“A sassy series.”
Chicago Tribune
“Anne George may be my favorite discovery of the year…The Patricia Anne and Mary Alice mysteries are wonderful confections that prove life is funny and poignant on the other side of 60.”
New Orleans Times-Picayune
“George’s low-key humor and engaging characters keep you flipping pages.”
Orlando Sentinel
“Great fun…George portrays a Southern family and all the connections that go along with it perfectly.”
Greensboro News & Record
“The characters are so opinionated you half expect them to fire your babysitter, and the action so real you think it’s happening next door.”
Los Angeles Times
“I haven’t been this excited about a series since the Hardy Boys.”
Birmingham Magazine
“I wish Patricia Anne and Mary Alice were my sisters. I’d love to hang out with them.”
Jill Churchill, author of the Jane Jeffry Mysteries
Southern Sisters Mysteries by
Anne George
from Avon Books
MURDER ON A GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT
MURDER ON A BAD HAIR DAY
MURDER RUNS IN THE FAMILY
MURDER MAKES WAVES
MURDER GETS A LIFE
MURDER SHOOTS THE BULL
MURDER CARRIES A TORCH
MURDER BOOGIES WITH ELVIS
And
THIS ONE AND MAGIC LIFE
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MURDER ON A BAD HAI
R DAY. Copyright © 1996 by Anne George. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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