Free Naked Once More by Elizabeth Peters Page B

Smith, something will come of this book business—with me, or some other writer—and there’s a lot of money involved. You may not need it now, but with three kids to raise and educate, it could come in handy some day.”
    “Oh, sure.” He spoke directly to her, ignoring the others. “I’m not turning it down, I’m not stupid. But all this…” Words failed him. Jacqueline was tempted to supply one, but decided it would not be polite. “This stuff gets me rilled up. I’m not about to stick my nose in what I don’t understand. Any more’n I’d appreciate somebody telling me how to do my job.”
    “If you and Laurie don’t want to participate, you don’t have to,” St. John said stiffly. “I have done my duty. I have consulted you.”
    “Yeah.” Earl tugged at his earlobe—obviously a sign of profound thought. Then his face took on a look of pure mischief that made him look five years younger and confirmed the fact that Benny was indeed his father’s son. “So we’ve got a vote? Okay, we vote for her.” A calloused forefinger indicated Jacqueline. “That’s settled. Come on, Laurie, collect the kids and let’s go.”
    “Aren’t you staying for lunch?” St. John asked, obviously hoping they were not.
    “No. We’ll stop someplace for burgers. That’s more our am-bee-ants, right, honey?” Jacqueline herself could not have bettered the sarcasm in his voice.
    Laurie heaved herself out of her chair. “Nice to have met you, Miz Kirby,” she said. “Earl’s right, this is no place for the kids. I’m real sorry about Benny.”
    “Please don’t apologize, Mrs. Smith,” Jacqueline said. “You have a fine family.”
    After they had gone, Jacqueline glanced at the plate of hors d’oeuvres. How the little girl had managed it she could not imagine; Earl had never relaxed his grip on her. But half the crackers were gone and there were grubby fingerprints on several pieces of cheese.
    St. John’s eyes bulged with fury when he noticed, but he wisely decided to forget the whole thing. What was most astonishing to Jacqueline was the absence of response, supportive or critical, from Mrs. Darcy and her youngest daughter. Neither had spoken a word to the Smiths.
    She had begun to suspect Mrs. Darcy must be suffering from a physical disability as well as some form of gentle senility when Marjorie appeared and announced abruptly, “Soup’ll get cold if you don’t come eat right this minute.”
    Mrs. Darcy leapt up, scattering woolly shawls, and bolted for the dining room. Her son tried to intercept her, but he wasn’t quick enough; the old lady flung open a door and scuttled through.
    Jacqueline was beginning to feel sorry for St. John. She had to admire him for his dogged pursuit of the amenities in the face of one disaster after another. Without turning a hair he advanced ponderously upon her and offered a bent elbow. She accepted it, managing to keep a straight face. As he led her to the table he murmured, “ ‘Oh! what a noble mind is here o’erthrown.…’ I wish you had known her in her prime, Mrs. Kirby.”
    “She seems happy,” Jacqueline said. It was true; Mrs. Darcy, already seated, was spooning up soup with the rapidity of a machine. Her face wore a blissful smile.
    “It was the… the sad event which has, after due passage of time, brought us all together.… The cause, I mean to say, of her tragic decline. She has never recovered.”
    “It must have been a terrible shock for all of you.” Jacqueline took the chair he held for her.
    Craig Two—Jacqueline had decided it was easier to distinguish them by number—sat down across the table from her. “It wasn’t only the shock, Mrs. Kirby. Kathleen kept her mother mentally alert—talked to her, waited on her hand and foot, amused her.”
    St. John bristled. “I’m sure, Craig, that you do not mean to imply that I have failed—”
    “Not at all.” The lawyer’s voice was smooth as butter. “Nor was I criticizing Sherri. She