April Henry [Claire Montrose Circles of Confusion (epub)

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.Next to the worn armchair was a clock radio.Impulsively, Claire pressed the ON button.Classical music filled the trailer, and they worked to the sprightly sounds of a harpsichord until Evan unplugged the radio, wrapped the cord around it, and put it in the Goodwill box.Then they both carried the armchair to the Dumpster.It was clear that Aunt Cady had continued in the love of reading she had talked to Claire about nearly twenty years before.In addition to the towers of magazines and yellowing newspapers, there were stacks of hardbound and paperback books, some dating back fifty years.A few were hard-boiled private eye novels of the type that Claire had seen for sale behind glass in Multnomah.She found one of these books—The Corpse Wore Black—under a pile of National Geographies.On the cover a red-haired beauty, very much alive, stared out at the reader through kohl-rimmed eyes.She wore an artist's salacious interpretation of widow's weeds, cut low and tight to show off breasts shaped like artillery shells.Claire placed it in the box of things she planned to take home, along with A Mind for Murder, Death in a Dark Place, and A Debt to the Dead.Maybe she could sell them to one of the antique stores in her neighborhood.In the early afternoon, Claire took a break to use the tiny bathroom.While she washed her hands, she studied the snapshots tucked in the frame of the mirror.With a small shock, she recognized one as her own senior high school photo.It was traditional for seniors to go to a studio to pose for portraits, but there hadn't been any extra money from the welfare check for that.Claire's earnings from her nearly full-time job at Pietro's Pizza were being carefully portioned out to keep the electric and gas companies at bay.So instead of posing under an artificial tree or against the backdrop of a muraled sunset, Claire offered a tentative smile against the blank wall of every school picture.She compared the photo with her reflected face.It was depressing that she hadn't changed much.More than fifteen years later, and she still had the same flyaway curls, the same pale skin—only now a few laugh lines framed her mouth.A part of her had always hoped that someday she would figure out how to make herself look glamorous, how to tame back her hair into a sleek chignon (a word she had read but had no idea how to pronounce).But she had only gotten older with nothing to show for it.With a little shock, she realized that if she pulled her hair back tight and lost twenty pounds, she might look something like Aunt Cady.Claire took down her own photo and then began to pull the other photos from around the mirror's frame.Here was another school portrait, this one of Suzy at sixteen, the last year she went to school, taken just before she moved out of the house and in with her motorcycle-riding boyfriend.Underneath a wing of hair made brassy by an overlong application of Sun-In, her gaze was wary, sidelong.Next in the circle of photos was a picture of a slim young woman with her head thrown back, caught in mid-laugh.She wore a Jackie Kennedy-ish outfit, complete with a pink pillbox hat.Claire looked closer.It was her mother, back in an age before teenagers tried so hard to set themselves apart from adults.Mom had given birth to Claire when she was just sixteen, seduced and abandoned by a man she had met in line at the movies who had dropped her two weeks later.Claire had always pictured some lecher sweet-talking a blank-faced child, but in this yellowing photo, her mom looked more adult and sure of herself than Claire did now.The last two photos in the mirror frame were cracked black-and- whites of a man with movie-handsome good looks, his blond hair cut short as fur.In one formal photo he posed in a military uniform, chest out, teeth gleaming, cap set at just the perfect angle.Next to that photo a snapshot showed the same man standing hipshot, his arm draped casually around a young Aunt Cady's shoulder.Her face was lit by a smile that completely transformed it, turning her sharp- edged features into beauty.In neither photo did the man smile.Instead he lifted his chin like a challenge.His eyes must have been pale blue, hut in the old black-and-white photos they glowed like quicksilver.Claire slipped the photos into her pocket, but the other things in the bathroom—a hairbrush, sample bottles of moisturizer, a cardboard-colored cardigan sweater nearly worn through at the elbows—she gathered up to carry to the trash."Is anyone at home?"A barrel-chested man in a too-tight jacket was just stepping through the open trailer door."I'm Karl Zehner." He spoke in a precise, fussy voice that was at odds with his size."And you must be dear Cady's son." He offered his hand to Evan, who had methodically been stacking newspapers in a box.Evan slipped off his dust mask."I'm afraid you're mistaken.She didn't have any children." He nodded at Claire."This is Claire Montrose, her great-niece."Claire thought she saw the man's expression tighten, but when he pivoted to her, his face was again smoothly jovial."I occasionally took your great-aunt to church."Church? Claire was a little surprised.They had sorted through hundreds of books, but she didn't remember seeing a single Bible.Karl Zehner clasped his large-knuckled hands piously in front of his chest, while his eyes roamed about the trailer."I was so sorry to hear about dear Cady's untimely demise.""Maybe you could tell me something more about her.I haven't talked to her in nearly twenty years.What was she like?"He blinked rapidly."A sweet, God-fearing lady.Of course, now I can see why she never invited me in.She must have liked to hold on to things, and it got a little away from her." His eyes found the two boxes that held the few items they had deemed worth keeping."She used to talk about some art she owned [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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