Read Southern Fried for Free Online Page B

fishy,
    but it didn’t sound crazy. Again I did my ceiling stare. “What
    were you up to, Granny? And why were you hanging around in
    my bedroom? Never liked to come up here when I was around,
    so why after?”
    On that subject, Granny was silent. Not even a banging on
    the wall or a shifting of a picture. Nothing remotely poltergeist-
    like. Still, I had me a look around, just out of curiosity. Pearl, it
    seemed, had it aroused. Zeb, of course, took care of all the rest
    30 Rob Rosen
    of my arousals, for the time being. Post-funeral, there was no
    telling.
    Problem was, it had been ten years since I’d been in my
    room. Everything looked familiar, but in a distant way. Like I’d
    seen it all in a movie rather than my life. And it all appeared in
    place. Probably just where I left it all. Albums in alphabetical
    order, books grouped by authors, posters on the walls in perfect
    alignment. “God, I was anal.” Chalk it up to life with Granny.
    Then I opened up the dresser drawers, figuring they’d be
    empty. I mean, I took my clothes with me to college. I was
    fairly certain I’d left nothing behind. But there was stuff inside.
    Underwear, socks, a couple of t-shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair
    of jeans. And none of it was for a teenager. Least not me. See, I
    didn’t wear jeans; Granny wouldn’t allow them inside the house.
    “Jeans is for fieldwork,” she’d say, sternly.
    In other words, someone was using my room. Or living in
    it. And under Pearl’s nose, I was certain, without her knowing
    it. Unless Granny had taken to wearing men’s clothes, which I
    highly doubted, amusing though the image might have been.
    “Maybe one of the workers was squatting, using my room
    without anyone knowing about it,” I said to myself, my fingers
    shuffling the clothes around. “After all, no one ever came up
    here once I was gone. What would’ve been the point?” Made
    sense. The mansion was huge. You could come and go without
    anybody knowing about it. Especially at night, when everyone
    was sleeping or had gone home. Heck, I’d done my fair share of
    sneaking out then. Well, twice, to be exact. But, in truth, that was
    my fair share.
    Anyway, I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not then, at any
    rate. I still had to get showered, dressed, and bury Granny. My
    stomach tied up in knots at item number three. Are you ready for
    it all? And so close to the beginning of our encounter? Nah, me
    neither. Nobody likes a funeral. Don’t worry, though; thankfully,
    it was a quick one.
    Once the police came and carted him away, that is.
    southeRn FRied 31
    Oh, now, sorry, there I go again, getting ahead of myself.
    Just wanted to make sure you were still listening. People usually
    zone out when you get to talking about funerals. Can’t blame
    them, really. Still, best to pay attention because at least one of my
    questions would soon be answered. Of course, it led to a whole
    lot more, as answers frequently do. Murphy’s Law they call it.
    “Fuck you, Murphy, wherever you are!”
    So I took that shower I mentioned, solo this go around. I
    hadn’t seen stunning hide nor slicked back hair of Zeb as of yet.
    I guessed he was getting ready, too. Not that it made me feel any
    better. Truth was, though, I’d already grown attached. Chalk it up
    to the times, harrowing as they were. Then I got dressed. Which
    left only that dreaded third agenda item. Gulp .
    Jeeves drove around to the front of the mansion, Bentley
    idling, Pearl and I standing at the top of the stairs. She looked
    at me and I at her. “Fine day for it,” she managed, forcing a
    smile, her black, unbelievably ginormous hat shading her from
    any vestiges of solar radiation.
    “Granny would’ve liked it,” I replied, slowly making my way
    to the car, Pearl’s hand now in mine. “Not the sunny part, just
    the fact that it’s Sunday. That means most everyone will be sober.
    Nothing worse than drunks at a funeral, Granny always said.”
    “It’s unseemly,” we