Read Murder at Monticello for Free Online

natives. Larry also knew the secrets: who had abortions before they were legal, what upstanding citizens once had syphilis, who drank on the sly, what families carried a disposition to alcoholism, diabetes, insanity, even violence. He’d seen so much over the years that he trusted his instincts. He didn’t much care if it made scientific sense, and one of the lessons Larry learned is that there really is such a thing as bad blood.
    â€œYou ever read these magazines before you put them in our slot?” The good doctor perused the
New England Journal of Medicine
he’d just pulled out of his mailbox.
    Harry laughed. “I’m tempted, but I haven’t got the time.”
    â€œWe need a thirty-six-hour day.” He removed his porkpie hat and shook off the raindrops. “We’re all trying to do too much in too little time. It’s all about money. It’ll kill us. It’ll kill America.”
    â€œYou know, I was up at Monticello yesterday with Susan—”
    Larry interrupted her. “She’s due for a checkup.”
    â€œI’ll be sure to tell her.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “But if I don’t say what’s on my mind when it pops into my head, I forget. Whoosh, it’s gone.” He paused. “I’m getting old.”
    â€œHa,”
Mrs. Murphy declared.
“Harry’s not even thirty-five and she forgets stuff all the time. Like the truck keys.”
    â€œShe only did that once.”
Tucker defended her mother.
    â€œYou two are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” Larry knelt down to pet Tucker while Mrs. Murphy prowled on the counter. “Now, what were you telling me about Monticello?”
    â€œOh, we drove up to see how the Mulberry Row dig is coming along. Well, you were talking about money and I guess I was thinking how Jefferson died in hideous debt and how an intense concern with money seems to be part of who and what we are as a nation. I mean, look at Light-Horse Harry Lee. Lost his shirt, poor fellow.”
    â€œYes, yes, and being the hero, mind you, the beau ideal of the Revolutionary War. Left us a wonderful son.”
    â€œYankees don’t think so.” The corner of Harry’s mouth turned upward.
    â€œI liken Yankees to hemorrhoids . . . they slip down and hang around. Once they see how good life is around here, they don’t go back. Ah, well, different people, different ways. I’ll have to think about what you said—about money—which I am spending at a rapid clip as Hayden and I expand the office. Since Jefferson never stopped building, I can’t decide if he possessed great stamina or great foolishness. I find the whole process nerve-racking.”
    Lucinda Payne Coles opened the door, stepped inside, then turned around and shook her umbrella out over the stoop. She closed the door and leaned the dripping object next to it. “Low pressure. All up and down the East Coast. The Weather Channel says we’ve got two more days of this. Well, my tulips will be grateful but my floors will not.”
    â€œRead where you and others”—Larry cocked his head in the direction of Harry—“attended Big Marilyn’s do.”
    â€œWhich one? She has so many.” Lucinda’s frosted pageboy shimmied as she tossed her head. Little droplets spun off the blunt ends of her hair.
    â€œMonticello.”
    â€œOh, yes. Samson was in Richmond, so he couldn’t attend. Ansley and Warren Randolph were there. Wesley too. Carys, Eppes, oh, I can’t remember.” Lucinda displayed little enthusiasm for the topic.
    Miranda puffed in the back door. “I’ve got lunch.” She saw Larry and Lucinda. “Hello there. I’m buying water wings if this keeps up.”
    â€œYou’ve already got angel wings.” Larry beamed.
    â€œHush, now.” Mrs. H.