Free A Misty Mourning by Rett MacPherson Page B

stomach was turning.
    â€œThat Norville fellow’s face was all in one piece. Panther’s gonna go for the head and neck area. As would any wild animal,” she said.
    â€œGee, thanks, Gert. Thanks for the lesson in animal attacks.”
    â€œOh, and the time the bear got a hold of—”
    â€œThat’s okay. Really. I get the picture.”
    The waitress came up to us then to see if we wanted refills on coffee or anything. Since I was having to do the no-caffeine, no-chocolate, low-sugar thing, I had no coffee or soda for her to refill. I know my doctor swears that this is the best thing for me and the baby, but I find this grossly unfair. I’m an American, for crying out loud. Take away my caffeine and chocolate, and what’s left?
    â€œWhere ya’ll staying?” the waitress asked.
    â€œThe Panther Run Boardinghouse,” I said. She must have realized that we either sounded like out-of-towners or acted like them, I wasn’t sure which.
    â€œOh, that old place? What for?”
    The waitress pronounced
for
as
fer
and I had to smile. My grandmother would slip into her old accent every now and then, but it was just about gone. I always liked it when she’d say things like
poosh
for
push
or
fer
instead of
for.
    Before either one of us could answer her, she spoke again. “Heard you had a painter attack.”
    I looked lost, so Gert clarified for me. “Panther attack.”
    â€œRight after that gulley washer, too,” the waitress added.
    â€œWell, we think it was an attack by some sort of wild animal. We’re not actually sure if it was a panther,” I said.
    â€œUsed to be around here, painters were aplenty. They gettin’ scarce now,” she said.
    â€œI know,” Gert said. “I’m from this part of the woods.”
    â€œOh, yeah?” the waitress asked as she picked up our empty plates. “Ain’t changed much.”
    Oh, but it had, I thought, as she walked away. To her maybe it was the same old stagnant small town with the same trappings as every other small town. But it had changed. Bucky’s, who or whatever it was, was gone. There was a McDonald’s on the corner as we came into town, which I’m sure had been added in the last ten or fifteen years. A chain grocery store was on the right, back at the stoplight. And once upon a time, this had been a coal town. Owned by the coal company. Meaning it had a company store and a company doctor. Oh, it had changed plenty.
    Gert and I went to the register and paid the bill. As I waited for my change, I noticed the woman behind the register kept eyeing me. I got that a lot, because I look as if I had a beach ball stuffed under my clothes, and nobody could wait to ask when I was due.
    â€œThink they’ll ever find out?” the woman asked.
    â€œFind out what?”
    â€œNow that Mrs. Hart’s dead. They say she was the one who knew.”
    â€œKnew what?” I was surprised by her line of questioning. It was obvious she had either overhead our conversation with the waitress or the waitress had marched right up here and told her that we were staying at the boardinghouse. I wasn’t surprised, however, with how quickly the town knew about Clarissa and the “panther” attack of the night before. I was from a small town. I knew how this worked.
    â€œYou know,” she said. “Those two miners. You think they’ll ever find out what happened to them?”
    â€œWe’re gonna be late for church,” Gert said to me. She all but shooed me out the door. I barely had time to get my change from the woman.
    â€œGert—”
    â€œLet’s just get to church,” she said. “Don’t give me no trouble or my hand’s gonna meet your fanny.”
    I didn’t doubt her. She’d swatted my fanny plenty. I got in the car and drove us to church, wondering all the while what the cashier at Denny’s was referring to,