Free The Goodbye Body by Joan Hess Page A

but the center of the table sported a modest arrangement of fresh flowers. I numbly continued to the kitchen. Every countertop was immaculate and the sink was empty. Pots, pans, and the wok had been put away. The dishwasher was humming softly. A ceramic bowl filled with glistening red apples was centered on the island. The kitchen looked as if it had been prepped for the arrival of a television crew and a professional chef eager to share his secrets with bored housewives.
    I was trying to remember which day the cleaning service was scheduled when Madison came into the room.
    “I felt really bad about the mess we left last night,” she said.
    “You did all this?”
    “It didn’t take all that long. There’s something I need to tell you. Would you like a glass of wine first?”
    I shook my head. “Tell me what?”
    Madison went around me and took a bottle from the refrigerator. “I really must find a wine shop and stock up. Dolly’s taste is so provincial. Have you ever tried the New Zealand sauvignon blancs?”
    “You needed to tell me about Dolly’s taste in wine?”
    She filled a glass and sat down on a stool. “Sara Louise had a really miserable night. She couldn’t sleep at all, and aspirin didn’t help. This morning I took her to the emergency room. They did some X-rays and found two badly cracked ribs, so they taped her up and gave her a prescription for pain pills. She’s upstairs now, zoned out. She’s supposed to go back for more X-rays in three days. The doctor’s worried that the cracks may splinter and put her at risk for a punctured lung.”
    “But she’s okay for now?”
    “As long as she stays in bed and doesn’t try to go any farther than the bathroom.”
    Despite my better judgment, I poured myself a glass of wine. Three days. If the assailant had been in the kitchen, I would have stuffed him in the dishwasher along with the china and silverware. And adjusted the temperature for scalding water.
    Madison misinterpreted my stunned expression. “Please don’t worry about her. The doctor said she ought to be fine as long as she follows orders. I know this is a major inconvenience for you, Ms. Malloy, but I don’t know what else we can do. I can’t cram Sara Louise in the backseat and drive fifteen hundred miles on my own.”
    “No, of course not.” Unable to come up with anything else to say, I took a drink of wine.
    “I’ll stay out of your way, I promise. Sara Louise can’t even come downstairs. I thought I’d take her some soup later, if she feels up to it.” She refilled her own glass and looked at me. “I really would like to explain all this to Dolly. Are you sure there’s no way to get in touch with her? She didn’t mention her sister’s name, for instance?”
    “I wish she had,” I said truthfully. “I checked the address book, but it has only local names and numbers.”
    “I’m sure she has a cell phone. Maybe we can find a bill and get the number off of it. Do you think it would be all right if we looked through her papers?”
    I didn’t, but this was an extraordinary occasion in which the end would certainly justify the means. “There’s a desk in the den. I suppose we might see if she keeps a folder with that sort of thing.”
    Madison brightened. “Uncle Bibi was very meticulous about records and canceled checks. I used to tease him about keeping our school photos in alphabetical order, as well as chronological. He had a separate bank account for birthday and graduation checks. Whenever I blew my allowance and needed a loan, he’d have me sign some sort of legal form that specified when I had to repay him—and charged me interest. Can you believe it?”
    We went into the den. The desk was along the wall opposite the impressive (and somewhat oppressive) entertainment system. I noted the rows of boxed videocassettes in a bookshelf large enough to accommodate the collected works of pretty much all the authors worthy of being collected. It was unfortunate that