Free All Fall Down by Carlene Thompson

thing happening to Susie…well, I just can’t imagine…Not that Susie knew Rosie real well or anything,” Bernice added hastily. “She hardly knew her at all.”
    Which is a blatant lie, Blaine thought. The police know that, so don’t expect them not to question Susie like they’re questioning all of Rosie’s friends. Or did Bernice’s lie have a deeper significance? Blaine stiffened. Did she believe Blaine had something to do with Rosie’s death, and was she trying to shield her granddaughter from a killer?
    Suddenly furious, Blaine was turning to walk back to the car when she heard someone say, “Who’s there, Bernice?”
    Joan’s voice. “It’s Blaine Avery, Miss Peyton.”
    Joan came to the foyer. She stared at Blaine for a moment, then with a small cry enfolded her in her arms. “Blaine, I’m so glad you’ve come.”
    Surprised by Joan’s unusual effusiveness, Blaine found herself chattering out an unnecessary excuse. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier, but today was my first day back at school, and after all the weeks I’ve missed, I couldn’t ask that another substitute be found on such short notice.”
    “I understand. Don’t apologize.” Joan held Blaine away from her and smiled weakly. The years had been kind to Joan Peyton. At forty-four, she had thick, glossy black hair that was undoubtedly touched up a bit, drawn into a neat French twist with the front waving slightly over her high, nearly unlined forehead. Even now, in her awful grief, she still looked tall and elegant with her broad, swimmer’s shoulders and firm body kept in shape by daily laps around the indoor pool she’d had built ten years ago. Blaine had always thought she had the bearing of a queen—a real queen, not a beauty queen. She wore a gray cashmere sweater, a matching skirt, and low-heeled shoes. Although she was alarmingly pale, only the redness in her remarkably beautiful violet eyes showed that she’d been crying, and her pink lipstick was askew, as if it had been applied by a shaking hand.
    “People are in the living room,” she was saying, “but I’d like a few minutes alone with you. Would you come into the library with me?”
    “Of course.”
    “Bernice, you won’t mind running up to check on Mother again, will you?”
    “Certainly not. That’s my job.” Bernice gave Blaine a final, sour look and plodded heavily up the graceful sweep of staircase.
    “Just ignore her, dear,” Joan said, steering Blaine into the library. “She’s so moody.”
    “She doesn’t like me.”
    “I apologize for her rudeness, and normally I’d dismiss her for treating a guest in this house that way, but there aren’t many private-duty nurses around here, so beggars can’t be choosers. We had her for Daddy last year, too.” She turned. “Do you want something? Coffee? Tea? A drink?”
    Blaine sat down on a leather wing chair placed in the only shaft of sunlight cutting through the dimness of the room.
    “No, Joan, I’m fine.”
    “If you don’t mind, I’ll have a small brandy. I know Mother wouldn’t approve of my drinking in front of the mourners in the living room—most of them are her friends. I assume Rosalind’s friends will be dropping by later.”
    And where are your friends? Blaine wondered briefly as Joan poured a snifter of brandy, took a sip, and wrinkled her nose. “Quince. I absolutely hate this stuff, but Mother loves it. In private only, of course. Oh, well, I guess it’s as good as anything for calming the nerves.”
    “Why don’t you ask Bernice for a tranquilizer?”
    “So she can tell everyone I had to be sedated, just like Mother? No, thank you.”
    “I’m surprised more people from school aren’t here,” Blaine ventured.
    “I guess they will be, later. Most of them will want to go home and rest before coming to offer condolences. Frankly, I’d prefer they just stay home. Oh, I know that sounds awful, but times like this are the very worst for the family to have to