"Harlan!" Adelaide yelled.
Harlan stopped in the center of the back door opening.
"You better have a good excuse, young man! Look at my floors! If you ain't, make your peace. You gonna be meetin' your maker, mister."
Harlan's neck had disappeared into the collar of his shirt.
"Miss Adelaide," he muttered.
"None of your sweet talk."
"Miss Cary wanted me to see her new dress."
"New dress? Boy, what are you talking about? You done had the sun burn a hole in that hard head of yours?"
"The dress . . . the gown you made for her to meet DeeDee," Harlan said.
Adelaide shook her head.
"Hon, get back to your weeds," said Adelaide. "That ain't no new gown. I knew she was up to something the minute I caught her rummaging 'round in the attic."
The maid smiled.
"Don't fret, Harlan. You didn't know. DeeDee been dead forever. Died within a year of his detainment. Something Miss Cary could never got over. Worse on her than witnessing a murder in her bedroom."
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Knows
General FictionA young lad is asked into the home of an aged spinster and finds more than what he bargained for.
