Free Gayle Trent by Between a Clutch, a Hard Place Page B

me.” She took a stack of textbooks out of her denim backpack and sprawled out onto the plush pink-carpeted floor.
     
    “Can I do a search for wife-killing Adamses?” I asked.
     
    She laughed. “How about adding the word ‘deaths’ after ‘Adams’ in the search box?”
     
    “Okay.” I tried that, and you’d be surprised at how many Adamses have died throughout history, not to mention America’s first and sixth Presidents. Oh, well, it’s a common surname. And “James Adams” is a common whole name. I know because I added “James” to that “Adams” and “deaths” search hoping to narrow things down. It didn’t help much.
     
    Finally after scrolling and scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, something stood out. It was the death of Delia Adams, survived by her husband James Adams and son James Adams, Jr. The date sounded about right in accordance with when Jim would have been a child, so I clicked the link to read more about it.
     
    “Hmmm,” I said.
     
    “What?” Sunny looked up from her math homework. “Did you find something?”
     
    “Maybe. There was a woman named Delia Adams who died of pneumonia in 1939. She had a son named James who was five years old at the time.”
     
    Sunny did some quick counting on her fingers. “The age would be about right, wouldn’t it?”
     
    I nodded. “And losing his mother at such an early age could make him hate all women and ultimately kill his wife, couldn’t it?”
     
    Sunny cocked her head. “That’s a stretch, but you never know.”
     
    We heard Faye’s car in the driveway and looked owl-eyed at each other.
     
    “What’s our story?” Sunny asked.
     
    “I just dropped in.”
     
    “Okay.” She got up and clicked computer buttons like crazy. Everything about the dead Adamses disappeared.
     
    “Hello!” Faye called as she stepped through the door. “Mother, please tell me you did not bring that beast with you.”
     
    Sunny and I went into the hall where Faye was hanging her jacket in the closet.
     
    “Mom,” Sunny said, “Matlock is a great dog.”
     
    I patted her arm so she wouldn’t keep talking and get herself in trouble. She and I are alike that way. Sometimes we don’t know when to shut up. “Did you have a good day?” I asked Faye.
     
    “It was terrific if you like having ten people constantly looking over your shoulder asking whether or not you’d typed their report yet, or do you know where this file is, or can you get so-and-so on the phone.”
     
    I nodded. “Yeah, I guess it was terrific if you go in for that kind of thing.”
     
    Faye squinted at me. “I don’t go in for that kind of thing, Mother. I go in for a paycheck to help me support my child and myself. Otherwise, I’d be out of that bank so fast it would make my head spin.”
     
    I held up my hands defensively. As usual anymore, Faye had left her sense of humor someplace else. Still, she looked pretty in her green, double-breasted suit. The green brought out her eyes.
     
    “What’re you doing here anyway?” she asked.
     
    I shrugged. “Just thought I’d come by. Since you’ve had such a hard day, why don’t you let me fix dinner?”
     
    She tilted her head. “That would be nice. Thanks.” She turned to Sunny. “Crimson, how’s your homework coming?”
     
    “It’s almost done.”
     
    “Then you can help Mimi if you want to. I think I’ll go take a bath.”
     
    “Good idea,” I said. “Go soak away that stress.”
     
    Sunny and I headed for the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner, kiddo?”
     
    She grinned. “You know what I love that I haven’t had in forever?”
     
    I cupped her pretty little face in my hands. “Let me guess. Biscuits and gravy?”
     
    “Uh-huh, and sausage and coffee-n-bread.”
     
    “That does sound good. I don’t know about the coffee-n-bread, though. It’s a little late for coffee.”
     
    Sunny’s face fell.
     
    “Does your Mother have any decaf?”
     
    “Yep!” She raced