"Kiser, Marcia - Sisterly Love" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kiser Marcia)

SISTERLY LOVE
By
Marcia Kiser

"G-D-I-T-H!" I said after I banged down the receiver.

"What?" My sister, Jennifer, reacted, which was good, by raising her head so I got a look at her blotchy cheeks. The swollen flesh around her eyes was purple.

"I'm improving my image," I said. "I'm trying to quit cussing. I haven't quite broken the habit, so I'm only using the first letter."

"Now? You're gonna quit cussing now? How can you even think about something so trivial?" Jennifer wailed.

I had to admit it probably wasn't the best time to quit. Stress was running high since Jennifer found her husband of almost twenty years, in the bedroom -- with a gun in his hand and a hole in his head.

"Who called?"

Jennifer wasn't up to answering the phone yet and it was one thing I could do. I patted myself on the back at the show of sisterly love. At least I distracted her for a few moments with my new approach to cussing.

Thinking Outer Mongolia would be a nice place to visit, I crossed the room and sat on the ottoman, so Jennifer and I would be at eye-level.

"Jen, that was the police." I grabbed her hands, dropping the limp tissue she held. "The lieutenant said Harold didn't commit suicide."

"He didn't . . . . ," she mumbled and started laughing. Jennifer jerked a hand free to cover her mouth. "He didn't commit suicide? That's wonderful, Tessa! Don't you think that's wonderful?"

Jennifer jumped up and paced the living room. I stayed where I was, waiting for her to make the connection.

"I've been sitting here for two days, wondering what I did that made Harold so miserable he'd kill himself. Feeling guilty, like I was the one that did something wrong. And now, I find out Harold didn't do it. That's just . . .."

It hit. It took a little longer than I expected and it hit her harder than I thought. Jennifer's mouth opened and shut like a baby bird in a kid's cartoon. If the situation weren't so tragic, it would have been comical.

"Tessa, if Harold didn't kill himself . . .." Her eyes opened so wide I was afraid her contacts would pop out. And I'd be D'd if I'd crawl around on the carpet looking for two little pieces of plastic.

I hugged Jennifer before she started screaming and got her in her chair. Knowing Jennifer like I do, having taken care of her for fifteen years before Harold took over, I had about ten minutes before she went into full-blown hysterics. I fixed her a drink -- a double, no ice -- chugged a couple of shots myself and called Jennifer's private Dr. Feel-Good, a quack who called himself Dr. Bernard, for G's sake. I didn't like him, but Jennifer did. The best thing about Dr. Bernard, in my opinion, was that he made house calls and didn't mind handing out sedatives.

I got the good doctor's answering service, assured them it was an emergency, bullied them into calling him on his cell phone and patching me through to him. Dr. Bernard agreed to come. I chugged another shot straight from the bottle and sat back to wait.
I was off by two minutes. I heard a low rumble, like thunder from far away. It increased in volume until Jennifer let loose a blood-curdling scream.

"He was MURDERED!"

I never claimed my little sister was overly endowed in the mental agility department.

My hands were full for the next half-hour trying to calm Jennifer. She went from paranoid (What if the killer's still here?) to indignation (How dare someone violate her home?) to maudlin (Poor Harold. At least he didn't suffer.) to taxpayer self-righteousness (What are the police doing about this?) and back again.

When the doorbell rang, I ran, giving serious consideration to kissing Dr. Bernard. I mean, he should have his little black bag with him. Surely he carried disinfectant and antibiotics I could use after being voluntarily slimed. I decided, instead, to entrust my sister to his care. I had my own life to take care of -- not to mention one or two small problems that could cause me untold grief if not attended to immediately. And there were a couple of things the police mentioned that I hadn't passed on to my sister that I needed to check out.

I opened the door ready to make my escape. Standing behind shiny Dr. Bernard were two police officers. I don't think I whimpered, but some of Jennifer's paranoia ran through my veins.

I locked my knees, made nice mouth noises, and got everyone inside and settled. While Dr. Bernard did his ministering angel routine with Jennifer, I snuck another slug and watched the two cops watch Jennifer and me.

"She was a little shook up when I told her Harold didn't kill himself." I addressed the space between the two cops, hoping one of them would speak. I hadn't heard their names over Jennifer's caterwauling when they flashed their badges at the door.