Free Wed and Buried by Mary Daheim Page B

crooks in Washington, D.C.!” Gurd raged. “What kinda trash are you delivering here anyways? Commie crap, I’ll bet, and propaganda from big business!”
    Cecil, who was young, black, and burly, eyed Uncle Gurd with disdain. “I just deliver the mail,” he said quietly.
    â€œGovernment tool! Political stooge! Bureaucratic lackey! Pshaw!” Uncle Gurd hopped up and down. Fortunately, Judith noted, he was clothed this morning.
    â€œExcuse me,” Cecil said with considerable patience, “I’ve got to go to the Rankers’s house…”
    â€œGood morning!” Judith called with forced cheer. “How are you, Cecil? Say, Uncle Gurd, have you had breakfast?”
    Gurd stopped hopping, which allowed Cecil to cross the cul-de-sac. “I already ate,” the old man replied. “Vivian cooked me breakfast. We had French toast.”
    According to Joe, Vivian Flynn wasn’t much of a cook. But maybe Uncle Gurd didn’t know the difference. “How nice,” Judith said, still cheerful. “Say,” she continued, coming off the porch onto the walkway, “wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a motel ?”
    Uncle Gurd looked at Judith as if she were ranting. “Now why would I want to stay in one of them phony places? What’s wrong with this hedge?”
    â€œWell…” Judith’s gaze traveled to the Rankers’s house. “It’s just that my neighbors might…ah…um…feel uncomfortable after awhile with somebody staying on what’s actually their property.”
    Gurd hitched up his pants and eyed Judith with something akin to pity. “A lot you know. The missus over here likes me. Yep, she’s making me lunch today.”
    â€œOh.” Judith’s smile tightened and died. It appeared that the neighbors in the cul-de-sac were conspiring against her. It was bad enough that Herself had befriended Uncle Gurd, but now it seemed that Arlene, in her typical good-hearted manner, was also encouraging the old man to remain on the premises. “Okay,” Judith sighed, “but it’s going to rain. Eventually.”
    Uncle Gurd seemed unintimidated by the prediction. With a small chuckle, he wandered back to the hedge. Judith returned indoors, sorting the mail as she headed for the kitchen.
    There were three deposits from upcoming guests, several advertising circulars, a thank-you note from a grateful couple who had spent a full week at Hillside Manor, and five more bills. One was from I. Magnifique, for Kristin’s wedding dress. Judith was preparing it for forwarding to the Rundbergs when she thought of something that had been eluding her: Hurriedly, she picked up the phone and dialed Renie’s number.
    Renie’s machine played a message recorded by one of the Jones boys. Judith would have to save her little idea until she saw her cousin at I. Magnifique. Meanwhile, she finished going through the rest of the mail. The last piece was addressed not to her or Joe or Gertrude, but Phyliss. It was postmarked Deep Denial, Idaho.
    â€œPhyliss,” she called from the top of the basementstairs. “You’ve got a letter here. I’ll put it on the counter by the computer.”
    Phyliss bobbed up like a cork, sausage curls bouncing. “Lord be praised! Them good Christian people kept their word! I told ’em to write me once they got home.”
    Judith fingered the plain white envelope. “Then this is from Kristin’s relatives? Why did they send the letter here?”
    â€œâ€™Cause I forgot to give ’em my home address,” Phyliss replied, snatching the envelope from Judith. “But that’s okay—they knew how to find me.” Eagerly, she ripped the letter open. “Now let’s see what they have to say for themselves about following the righteous pathways of the Lord.”
    Judith left Phyliss to her letter. If she never heard from any of the