A Death-Struck Year

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Book: Read A Death-Struck Year for Free Online
Authors: Makiia Lucier
like I’ll be alone for a month!” I said. “The pantry is full, I’m sure, knowing Mrs. Foster. And I can always walk to the bakery and buy a sandwich if I need to. It will be like camping.”
    Grace looked unconvinced. “You’ve never camped a day in your life,” she pointed out, before sighing. A great put-upon sigh. “You’re sure?”
    “I am.” I tried to remember which dairy and ice service Mrs. Foster used. And what about firewood? Did we have enough? Who did I telephone for that? I could honestly say I’d never once given the purchase of firewood a thought.
    Grace relented. “
Fine.
I’ll keep your ridiculous secret. For now.” A small stack of cream-colored note cards lay on her desk, beside a teacup filled with freshly sharpened pencils. Grace wrote on a card before handing it to me. “This is our address in Florence—”
    I sighed. “I know your address, Grace.”
    Grace snatched my hand, set the card on my palm, and looked me straight in the eye. “Take it anyway,” she ordered. “Will you promise to telephone if you change your mind? Or if you need help? Anything? I can take the Packard myself and be back here straightaway.”
    I folded the note in half and looked out the window. Grace’s father stood by his car, frowning at a pocket watch. I thought of all that had happened today. I thought of Grace leaving. There was a lump in my throat the size of an apple.
    “I promise,” I said.
    Grace sidled closer until our shoulders touched. “Miss Elliot is there,” she said, pointing. “You see? With Emily and Miss Bishop.” She looked at me, worry and indecision stamped on her face. “But I was just outside. No one is watching the back gates.”
     
    The gravel crunched beneath my feet as I made my way toward the south entrance. Grace was right—not a soul occupied the back lawn. I passed empty tennis courts and abandoned picnic tables and walked right through the gates. I’d just started to relax when I heard the rumble of an engine behind me. The sound grew louder and more ominous as it approached. I kept my gaze on my shoes and stifled a groan.
    It had been too easy.
    The car slowed beside me and stopped. The engine sputtered into silence. Left with no choice, I looked over my shoulder.
    Margaret occupied the passenger seat of a shiny new roadster. She wore a moss-green coat and hat. She eyed my satchel, her expression disapproving. “Your brother is going to kill you, Cleo.”
    I glanced past her at the sandy-haired boy in the driver’s seat. “You are hardly one to lecture,” I said.
    Harris leaned around Margaret with a sheepish grin. He had a wide, friendly face and ears that stood out even more after a recent haircut. “Afternoon, Cleo.”
    “Hello, Harris.”
    Margaret opened her door. “Come on.” She scooted over to make room. “We’ll take you home.”
    “No, it’s fine. I feel like a walk.”
    Frowning, Margaret moved back across the seat. “Jack and Lucy are on their way home? You won’t be alone for very long?”
    “I won’t.” My own questions ran through my mind.
Where are you going? What will you do?
But I kept quiet, because I was hardly innocent. And because Harris would be heading off to Fort Stevens tomorrow.
    Reaching into the car, I wrapped both arms around Margaret before giving her a kiss on the cheek. “You’ll be careful?” I asked.
    Margaret sniffled. “I will. You too, Cleo. Try not to do anything I wouldn’t do.”
    I laughed. Stepping back, I looked at Harris, whom I had known since we were children. “Lucy and I will keep your mama company the next time we’re in Salem, Harris. And I’m sure Jack will stop in on your father. Don’t you worry about anything except coming home safe.”
    Harris’s ears turned bright pink. “My parents will appreciate it. I’m obliged to you, Cleo.” Margaret placed a hand on his arm.
    I shut the door. As the car continued on its way, Margaret stuck her head out the window and waved. I waved back.

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