Free Blanche on the Lam: A Blanche White Mystery by Barbara Neely Page B

the sofa. The chair where Grace had sat crying provided a better view, but Blanche didn't go near it. Gloom and tension still hung around that chair. She leaned her head back against the comfortable sofa and put her foot up on the edge of the coffee table. She let her eyes roam over the scene out the window. It was another lovely Carolina morning. The pine trees were blue-green in the morning sun. She could hear three different birds' songs, none of which she could identify. In between the chirping and whistling and twittering was the sound of the pine trees rustling like women switching in silk petticoats. Blanche set her mind to rest there, on the view, thinking of nothing, only seeing and listening, marveling. She was always amazed at how very beautiful the everyday world was down here after the concrete bleakness of most of New York.
    Despite her crazy dream, she had slept well and had risen with more optimism than she'd felt since she took off from the courthouse. She had a plan. With a little luck, she was just hours, at the most days, away from getting her tax return. Ardell was to pick up the check, borrow Leo's car, meet Blanche, and take her someplace where she could cash it. She'd ask Ardell to bring the kids to meet her, so they could talk about her leavingand say their goodbyes. After that, she and Ardell would drive to Durham, where Blanche would get the bus north. She saw herself as already gone from this place, from this state, out of the sheriff's reach. It wouldn't take her more than a year to get herself enough steady customers or a long-term position with a decent wage. She was very good at and proud of what she did in a world where that combination was harder to find in many professions. Somehow she would convince her mother to give up the children when she was settled. Just as she would find a way to make the children understand that her leaving them behind was both necessary and temporary. They had surely built enough trust in her by now for them to handle it—which was not to say that any of it was going to be easy on anybody.
    At the same time, Blanche caught her breath at the thought of months without kids to tend, of once again taking whatever risks she saw fit with no concern for anything beyond herself, as long as she could send money to her mother. There's nothing wrong with looking forward to having my own life back for a little while, she defended herself. After all, she hadn't chosen to be a mother. She scoffed at the inner voice which argued that she could have refused her sister's request. How did you say no to your dying, widowed sister? When Rosalie had asked her to take the children, the cancer had already spread beyond her breasts. Blanche had agreed, almost in the belief that by doing so she was warding off the inevitability of Rosalie's death. Rosalie's other legacy was the unanswered and unanswerable question of whether Rosalie had meant to punish her by making her the children's guardian.
    Blanche had never made a secret of her decision not to have children. Rosalie had always chided Blanche about it, calling her selfish and unwomanly. It didn't bother Blanche. She understood her sister too well. But it bothered Rosalie. Rosalie had never been able to accept that her way of life wasn't the preferred way for everyone she cared about. For over a year after her death, Blanche had hated her dead sister for having proscribed her life.But she knew that Rosalie had loved her children dearly. She would never have left them to someone she didn't believe would really care for them and love them, no matter what her other motives might have been. And I'm sure as hell hooked now! she laughed to herself and shook her head. She sat for a few more minutes, then rose, adjusted the crotch of her panties, and went to the front door.
    She'd heard a car in the drive around five that morning and assumed it was someone delivering the newspaper. Evidence of the soundness of her hearing and assumption lay on