Free The Grave Soul by Ellen Hart

As he rose to go, he stopped. Turning back, he said, “Do you have a phone directory for New Dresden?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I do.” She reached under the bar. “Here you go.” She shoved it across to him.
    He quickly found Hannah Adler’s name. “1459 Ogden Avenue,” he said, repeating the address out loud. “You know where that is?”
    She gave him directions, said it wasn’t far.
    A few minutes later, Guthrie pulled his car to the curb outside a one-story stucco bungalow. It was a nice enough middle-class neighborhood with large, ancient elm trees, though the houses were all small, as were the yards. Cutting the engine, he trotted up the front walk and rang the bell, noting that, at the doctor’s house, the driveway and walks had all been shoveled. When no one answered, which, by now was what he expected, he banged for almost a minute, taking out his frustration on the door.
    â€œDamn it,” he shouted, whirling around. He scanned the street, then turned back and examined the front picture window, which was covered by a heavy curtain. Opening his cell phone, he was about to punch in Kira’s number when the garage door opened and a black Lexus backed out. As it eased into the drive, the passenger-side window lowered.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Guthrie?” Hannah’s expression was impatient on the way to being pissed.
    â€œHow come you’re still in town?” he asked, trotting down the steps. “Why aren’t you with the rest of your family?”
    â€œRight, like I want to spend the next few days getting yelled at. Answer my question. Why are you here?”
    â€œI need to see Kira.”
    The car continued to back toward the street. “Have you heard of an amazing little device called the cell phone? Works wonders for general communication.”
    â€œShe won’t answer.”
    Hannah stopped the car. “Then give her some time and she will.”
    â€œWhere are they? What’s going on?”
    â€œNone of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got patients to see in Eau Claire.” With that, she closed the window, backed out onto the street, and drove away.

 
    12
    Jane carried an old dusty box of Christmas ornaments up the stairs from the basement, amazed to think that she hadn’t opened it in more than fifteen years, not since her longtime partner, Christine, had died. Ever since that time, she’d spent Christmas at her father’s house or at Cordelia’s. This year, she’d made the decision to host Christmas at her home. It was all part of the decision she’d made to live life at a more respectful pace, to stop and smell the roses, and all that.
    Coming into the living room, she found Cordelia bending over the tree base, filling it with water. Bolger Aspenwall III, Hattie’s part-time nanny—also in his final year of an MFA program at the university—stood on a ladder attempting to affix a glittering gold star to the top of the tree. Hattie was on her knees in front of the fireplace, perched between Jane’s two dogs—Mouse, a brown lab, and Gimlet, a miniature black poodle. All three were staring raptly at Bolger.
    â€œMake sure it’s straight,” said Cordelia, helping Jane set the cumbersome box down on the couch.
    Hattie scrambled to her feet as Jane removed the cover. “Ooh,” she said, touching the red tissue paper surrounding all the delicate ornaments. “Can I help put them on the tree?”
    â€œThat’s the plan,” said Cordelia. “You work on the bottom half and I’ll do the top.”
    â€œAnd I’ll string the lights,” said Jane, standing back to assess the tree. “I can’t believe you talked me into buying such a big one.” A seven-foot Scotch pine was now enthroned in her living room, in front of the picture window.
    â€œI forgot to bring my extra lights,” said