Free Killing Weeds by Jim Lavene, Joyce Page A

disposition. He didn’t like to stir things up the way Peggy and her mother did. Most of the time, he got between them when there was trouble.
    Peggy went upstairs with Shakespeare at her heels. They went to the kitchen door and opened it for her parents—a big hug from her father and polite air kisses from her mother.
    “Why didn’t you call us?” Lilla demanded as Ranson maneuvered their suitcases into the house.
    “She didn’t want to bother us,” her father said. “Don’t pick at her now. She’s had a rough day. We’re not here to make it worse.”
    “What about Paul’s job?” Lilla continued as she strode confidently into the house leaving her handbag on the kitchen table with her pink sweater. “Is he going to be all right? I can’t believe you didn’t at least tell us about this. He’s our grandson, and Rosie is our great-granddaughter. We have a right to know.”
    “Everything happened so quickly,” Peggy began to explain. “I didn’t think of it. I’m sorry.”
    “That’s okay, honey.” Ranson smiled. “Where should I put these bags?”
    “You really don’t have to stay with me. Steve is only gone one more night. I’ll be fine.” And I’m going to kick Sam for calling you as soon as I see him.
    “We’re here now, Margaret,” her father said.
    “And we’re not going home until things get better,” her mother added imperiously.
    Peggy sighed. “Follow me.”
    They walked through the rambling old house that had been built during the turn of the last century for John’s family. It was big, even compared to the other large houses around it.
    Situated on an acre of land in the heart of Myer’s Park, the house had dozens of bedrooms, a large library, and a dining room that could easily seat twenty. The Lee family had made their money from shipping, and this was where John’s great-great-grandfather had brought his new bride.
    Everything in the building of the house had been carefully chosen and selected to last a lifetime. Hardwood floors and paneled walls had been cut in Wilmington and brought to Charlotte. Expensive chandeliers and furniture were the best money could buy at the time.
    Peggy had been raised in Charleston, South Carolina as the only child of a gentleman farmer on hundreds of acres of land close to the sea. But she’d lost her heart to John Lee when they were in college, and it was here that he’d brought her as well.
    John had inherited the house and land as part of a legacy. Paul didn’t inherit it at John’s death. The trust went to John’s nephew, who wasn’t ready to settle down.
    She lived there with his good graces but without the elder family members’ approval. They were even unhappier when she’d married Steve, but it was important for someone to live in the house. She loved the old place and thought it might as well be her.
    They walked through the ground floor past the thirty-two foot blue spruce that was growing under the skylight beside the circular staircase. Peggy had planted that right after she and John had moved here. She felt as though it was the soul of the house.
    Her mother and father followed her up the three-story marble staircase. Peggy loved its cool smoothness beneath her bare feet in the summer. Shakespeare had a hard time with it, slipping and sliding down the stairs more often than walking down.
    Peggy put her mother and father in the blue suite next to her room. Everything was done in shades of blue as it had been when she’d moved there—minus the moth-eaten drapes and bedclothes. The previous heir hadn’t been very interested in upgrading things in or around the grand old estate.
    “The bathroom is in there.” She pointed. “You know the rest of the house. You can stay here as long as you like. You know the invitation is always open.”
    Ranson put the luggage on the bed. “Was that pizza I smelled downstairs? I’m starving. What about you, Lilla?”
    “I’m exhausted from packing and worrying about my family.”