Free Blood Relations by Rett MacPherson

too, don’t you? No, don’t answer that question. I don’t want to know. No fresh garlic,” she said, still disbelieving.
    I folded my arms and leaned up against the countertop. “I thought you always said the way to a man’s heart was through his—”
    â€œMom!” a voice screeched from the kitchen door. It was my middle child. My wild child. The child with as much personality as an amusement park and as much energy as a roller coaster. “Matthew keeps hitting me with his T. rex, and I’m about tired of it.”
    â€œMary,” I said, “tell him you’re not going to play with him anymore if he keeps hitting you.”
    â€œI’m not playing with him,” she said, her green eyes sparkling. “I am sitting on my bed, minding my own business, reading a book, and he just whopped me upside the head.”
    â€œWell then, that’s his problem. He wants you to play with him.”
    â€œNo!” she exclaimed. “I’ll just go outside and read.”
    She turned and disappeared down the hallway, then came back dressed in her winter coat and slippers, her book in her hand. “I’ll just go out on the porch and read.”
    â€œIt’s twenty degrees outside,” I said.
    â€œI don’t care,” she snapped. “It’s better than having to put up with him! ”
    The door slammed behind her as she headed out to the back porch. Collette looked at me and then laughed.
    â€œI give her ten minutes,” I said.
    â€œGod, were we like that?”
    â€œYup,” I said.
    â€œExcept you never had any siblings to fight with,” she said. “I had my sister, who hated my guts. We got over that, though. Funny how that works.”
    â€œYeah, you’re right. I never had any siblings,” I said. My voice trailed off as I reached for a pan from underneath the stove.
    â€œOooh, I detect a shift in mood here,” Collette said.
    â€œHmm? Oh, no, I’m fine,” I said.
    â€œNo, having Hugh Jackman lick your toes is fine, darling. What you are is … distracted.”
    â€œRight,” I said laughing. “I’m fine.”
    She said nothing and went about chopping up my inferior yellow onion. Collette is really good about letting me come to her with things, rather than prying. I can’t say that I’m as good a friend. I usually pry everything from her. Patience is not one of my virtues. “So, tell me what you know about the wreck,” she said, changing the subject.
    â€œWell, funny you should ask. In between tours, I managed to get some reading done, although not nearly enough.”
    â€œYeah? And?”
    â€œWell, I think she might have been loaded flat. I’ve got a call into one of the historical societies down in Arkansas,” I said. “I want to see if they’ve got a picture of The Phantom as she left port. We might get lucky.”
    â€œWhat good will that do?”
    â€œShow if she was loaded flat. She may have had too many people on board, so that when the captain flanked her, which the eyewitnesses said he did, the water would have swept up on the deck, probably knocking people off into the river right then and there. Then it would have been just a matter of her turning on her side and going under.”
    â€œSo … where’s the mystery in that?”
    â€œThere isn’t one. Except why a seasoned pilot of a steamer would flank his ship that hard, knowing he was loaded flat. That doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œWhat do you know about the pilot?”
    â€œNot a lot,” I said. “That’s one of the things I planned on reading about tomorrow.”
    â€œAnd Jessica Huntleigh?”
    â€œYou know, I don’t really know that much. I’m going to ask Sylvia some questions about her when I get a chance.”
    â€œWhat about … you know, the diamonds?” she asked, stirring the pasta