Free A Misty Mourning by Rett MacPherson Page A

on the right—well, what did they do with Bucky’s?”
    I looked to where she pointed. “Looks like it’s a Denny’s,” I said.
    â€œWhat happened to Bucky’s?” she asked with genuine sorrow. “Oh, I bet he died.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh because she’d added that last bit as if it was the only explanation for what could have happened to Bucky’s. The fact that chain restaurants had come in and taken over, making it impossible for the little guy to own his own company, had not occurred to her. Gert could tell me anything I wanted to know about massive earthquakes, massacres in schools, rare and deadly diseases, but she seemed clueless over the quiet catastrophes.
    â€œAll right, let’s eat at Denny’s,” she said.
    The food was good. Service was good. Conversation was a bit scattered.
    Gert inhaled her food, which she swears was caused from thirty-five years of being a waitress and never getting an official lunch break. Whatever the reason, with her I always felt self-conscious about the fact that I was still eating. I guess I was worried it would appear as though I had so much more food than she did that it took me twice as long to eat.
    â€œThe sheriff said he should have Clarissa’s room and office cleared by this evening,” Gert said.
    â€œGood,” I said. “Dexter Calloway said that there was some stuff up in the attic that Clarissa wanted me to have. Said that the stuff belonged to your mother.”
    Gert thought about it a minute. “Wonder what it could be?”
    â€œI don’t have a clue,” I said. “Gert, why would somebody want to kill Clarissa? I mean, she was a hundred and one years old, like she wasn’t going to the soon enough on her own?”
    â€œSeems to me,” she said, shaking her head, “that whoever it waswanted to make sure the new will was not read or filed at the courthouse. What other reason could it be?”
    â€œThen that would have to mean it was one of her three children. Other than Norville, who is now out of the picture, and myself, there wasn’t anybody else who inherited anything.”
    â€œMaybe they were left something in the old will and got left out of the new one,” she said.
    â€œMaybe Mr. Jett would let me look at the old will to see who else is listed,” I said. I took my last drink of orange juice and sighed. “It just seems so wrong.”
    â€œIt could be one of her grandchildren,” Gert suggested.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œMaking sure that their parents got the inheritance so that they would in turn get their inheritance,” she said. “And I don’t think that was a panther.”
    It took me a second to realize she had shifted gears and was now talking about Norville Gross. “Why not?” I asked.
    â€œPanther’s not going to come that close to people in the day.”
    â€œWhat if he wandered into the woods and stumbled upon the panther?” I said.
    â€œIt wouldn’t drag him back to the boardinghouse. I might be wrong, but do you think a panther could drag a hundred-and-eighty-pound man back to the house? And if she could or would drag him around, why wouldn’t she go farther into the woods with him, instead of back to civilization?”
    â€œMaybe he wasn’t dead yet and he crawled back on his own,” I said. It was clear that my grandmother had given this a lot of thought.
    â€œNope,” she said. “He wasn’t tore up enough for it to be a panther.”
    I reached into my purse to get out my wallet so I could pay the bill. Her words stopped me. “How would you know?”
    â€œ ‘Cause, you forget I was born and raised in these mountains,” she said. “I’ve seen what parithers can do. Your great-uncle Martinhad a run-in with a panther. Not only did he not live, but there were claw marks and blood everywhere. Teeth marks, too.”
    My