Free Death by Lotto by Abigail Keam Page A

much in use.
    Beaumont Inn was built in 1845 as a college for well-bred young ladies – mainly those south of the Mason-Dixon line. Many upstanding families sent their daughters to this college during the Civil War to keep them out of harm’s way while their parents fought for the “noble cause.”
    It was ironic that Kentucky’s bloodiest battle during the Civil War was fought not fifteen miles from the school at a little hamlet called Perryville, where Ethel resided. Cannon fire was so fierce that windows in the town rattled.
    Harrodsburg was used as a hospital center for many of the wounded of both sides as was Shakertown, a religious community devoted to work, prayer and celibacy located north of Harrodsburg. The Shakers invented the clothespin, among other household items. That meant we girls were one step closer to the invention of the washing machine. Of course, anything would be better than beating clothes with rocks and clay at the river.
    Neff pulled over while I mused over the directions written by Ethel and then pored over a map. “Turn left at the next corner,” I directed, “and then go about four miles.”
    Pulling out into the traffic, Neff turned the car left and sped down a country lane. Finally seeing the little store that was our goal, he turned into the parking lot.
    I got out of the Avanti and ventured into the store.
    Wandering around the aisles, I finally decided upon a Moon Pie, which I hadn’t had in years, and a Diet Rite Cola. Seeing that a sixtyish woman was overseeing the cash register, I made my move.
    “Anything else, dearie?” the clerk asked, revealing very perfect teeth. Must be expensive caps, which might explain the overly tight clothes for a woman of her age. And yes, there was cleavage showing. This lady was fighting age and doing a nice job of it. She was holding her own.
    “Yes, there is. I’m a friend of Ethel Bradley’s and she asked me to get a lottery ticket for her. Let me see now. Ah yes, here are the numbers she wants me to play.” I handed the lady a handwritten note from Ethel.
    She raised her glasses and peered closely at it. “You kin to her?”
    I raised my hand in deference. “No. She is staying in town with a friend, but she made me promise to come get this lottery ticket. Seems like it is very important to her.”
    The clerk leaned across the counter. “Oh, it is like lighting a candle for the dead, you see. She does it in memory of her husband and son. Both gone now for years.”
    “Oh, I didn’t know.”
    “So you see why it is important to her.”
    “Yes. I’m so glad I came then. Your name is?”
    “Suzy. I’ve been waiting on Miss Ethel going on twenty years now. She always plays the same numbers.” Suzy glanced down at the note. “And these are the correct numbers,” she confirmed. “I tried to tell Jubal that his numbers were wrong but he wouldn’t listen.”
    “Jubal is . . . ?”
    Suzy leaned on her elbows and glanced around the store. In a stage whisper, she confided, “That’s Ethel’s nephew. He came in last week or so to buy a ticket for Ethel, but gave the wrong numbers. I told him so. I have the numbers memorized by heart after all these years, but would he listen?” She shook her head. “He’s a hard-headed man. Told me to mind my own business and kept insisting he wrote them down right, but he probably didn’t listen to Ethel either.”
    “What happened?”
    “I did my job.”
    “You sold him a ticket with the wrong numbers?”
    “Wrong for Ethel, but maybe right for him.” She winked at me.
    “I’m sorry but I don’t know what that means.”
    “I checked the paper on Sunday and I couldn’t remember all his numbers, but the numbers in the paper were close . . . so maybe he won something.”
    “Would that still be Ethel’s win if she had paid for the ticket even if he gave the wrong numbers?”
    “Yes, but he could go to court over it. I’m sure a judge would be sympathetic to both parties.”
    A customer