Carolyn Hart [Death on Demand Yankee Doodle Dead (v5.0) (epub

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.Annie’s smile fled.Not a customer.“Hello, Miss Dora.How are you today?” Ingrid sounded genuinely pleased.Easy for Ingrid, Annie thought.Ingrid only worked here.But whatever Miss Dora Brevard wanted, Annie knew it would be made clear.Unlike Laurel.In fact, a refreshing contrast to Laurel.Annie started eagerly up the center aisle, pleased to free her mind of Shakespeare, love, the library, and the Fourth.Miss Dora Brevard was the doyenne of Chastain, South Carolina, a charming antebellum town not far from the ferry stop to Broward’s Rock.Annie had first met the wily and wise elderly resident when Annie became involved in creating a mystery program for the House-and-Garden Week in Chastain.On another occasion, Annie and Max had helped Miss Dora solve a long-ago crime involving the Tarrant family.The thump of Miss Dora’s cane mingled with a hoarse commentary.“There’s adequate space.Some of the books can be put away until the festival’s over.”Annie’s eagerness abruptly flagged, but she managed to keep her smile squarely on her face.“Miss Dora, how lovely that you could come over today.” Living on the mainland seemed no deterrent to frequent island visits by Miss Dora.Annie wondered if the old lady traveled to the ferry in a horse-drawn carriage.It would be fitting.Miss Dora was arrayed in her usual voluminous folds of black drapery that would have been perfectly appropriate at Queen Victoria’s funeral.Annie always pictured a frayed leather chest in a dusky corner of an attic, chock-full of diminutive dresses in black bombazine.Her shaggy silvery hair unfazed by the soggy summer air, Miss Dora lifted her ebony cane to point toward the back of the room.She swept past Annie, her shoes pattering against the shining floor, making a soft flutter like bat wings lifting from a cave at sunset.Annie followed.It seemed to be a day for following.Diverted, she again vowed to find that old assertiveness tape.For an instant, tantalizing possibilities danced in Annie’s thought, examples of Speak Your Mind:To Henny, It was such a pleasure to visit with Miss Pettigrew, the new curator of the museum.She reads more than a hundred mysteries a month and she knows more mystery trivia than you do.So there! Nyah, nyah, nyah.To Laurel, Max absolutely, positively, beyond a shadow of a doubt, does NOT get more like you every day.Oh, God, what subterranean fear prompted that?To Miss Dora, social arbiter for all the society that counted in Chastain, South Carolina, Whatever it is, the answer’s no.I will not be bullied by you today or at any time in the future.But tantalizing possibilities they remained.Instead, Annie said meekly, “What can I do for you, Miss Dora?”Miss Dora carefully eased a large cardboard portfolio onto a table, flipped it open, and peered up at Annie, her wrinkled parchment face expectant.Annie stepped around her and looked down at a charcoal drawing: Two young women dressed in men’s clothing sprang from the deep shadows beneath a live oak tree, muskets in hand, to accost a messenger escorted by two British officers.“Nighttime.Heard the horses coming, jumped out with their guns.” Miss Dora’s hoarse voice was triumphant.“They got the papers, sent them to Nathanael Greene.A great help to the Colonials.”“That’s very nice,” Annie began.Miss Dora’s eyes slitted.“South Carolina women always prevail.”“I’m sure they do.” Annie didn’t doubt it for a minute.Not even a New York minute.Miss Dora’s thin lips spread in an approximation of a smile.It reminded Annie irresistibly of the alligator that lived in the lagoon behind her house.Not a creature that she ever intended to rile.“Miss Dora,” she said heartily, “this is quite fascinating—”“Grace and Rachel Martin.”Annie looked around in bewilderment.She hadn’t heard the door.Miss Dora cleared her throat.The front of the shop lay quiet.Annie looked back at her guest, met a disdainful gaze.Shaggy hair bristling, Miss Dora inclined her head toward the drawing.Annie quickly nodded.“Oh, certainly.Of course.Grace and Rachel Martin.”Miss Dora began to shake.Annie stared at her in concern, then realized the crinkled parchment face was quivering with laughter.Miss Dora clapped her hands together gleefully.It made no sound because she wore half-gloves.“When the girls got away with the courier’s papers, they raced home.The officers and the messenger turned back.They stopped at the Martin household, demanded to be put up for the night, said they’d been waylaid by some lads and lost their papers.And they never knew the women who housed them were those very same ‘lads.’ Grace and Rachel.”Annie stared at the softly brushed charcoal, which gave a sense of movement to the scene.She could almost hear the ghostly hoofbeats, imagine two young women, their hearts pounding, their hands tight on the guns, willing to risk their lives for the land they loved.Miss Dora spread other drawings on the tabletop:A stalwart woman moved among rows of injured Confederate soldiers.A pretty girl bent over her diary, pen in hand, to write that Confederate money was losing value, with ordinary shoes costing from sixty to one hundred dollars and butter going for seven dollars a pound.An elegant artist smoothed clay to create Joan of Arc astride a horse, her sword aloft.“Louise Cheves McCord, Floride Clemson Lee, Anna Hyatt Huntington.Among South Carolina’s finest.” There was reverence in Miss Dora’s raspy voice.Miss Dora peered up at the paintings on the back wall, then at Annie.“A good half dozen will fit—”“No.” Finally, a stern, strong, unyielding declaration.Perhaps she didn’t really need that assertiveness tape.Miss Dora pursed her tiny mouth.“Although they certainly are lovely.” Annie truly was impressed.“Did you draw them, Miss Dora?” Each sketch was done with a minimum of strokes, but they radiated energy, the figures looking as if at any moment they would move.A benign nod.“Southern women always have an understanding of the arts.”“Yes.Of course.” This was a facet of Miss Dora Annie had never known.It did not, however, come as a surprise.Nothing Miss Dora did would surprise Annie.“The front window—”“No.” A ringing declaration.Miss Dora’s eyes slitted.“Where then?”Annie’s mouth opened.Closed.“That Yankee refuses to permit them in the library.” The dark eyes glittered with disgust.Annie didn’t have to inquire which Yankee.Miss Dora stroked the musket held by either Grace or Rachel.“When he first came to town, he volunteered to be in charge of library displays.Henny welcomed him.Then.” The single word crackled with import.“She’s come to rue the day.I could have told her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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