A Tough Nut to Kill (Nut House Mystery Series) by Elizabeth Lee Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Lee
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“Time’s a wastin’.”
• • •
I turned in under the huge, square sign spelling RANCHO CONWAY and slowed to drive up the long paved road to the Conway house, bigger than our house. Actually bigger than anybody’s house. A real showplace. Like something straight out of the English countryside. Not exactly Texas, but surrounded with old pecan trees, branches lazily swaying in the hot afternoon breeze.
There was a white swing on the lawn and white wicker rockers with bright chintz cushions. This part of what they’d done with the place looked Southern, a place for ladies in long dresses and big bonnets to gather of a hot afternoon and sip their mint juleps while gossiping about their neighbors and declaring they hoped Davy Crockett was doing all right for himself over there at that Alamo.
The neatly trimmed lawn swept around the house and down toward the Colorado on one side, back to brand-new barns on the other.
I rang the bell, listening to a big gong sound inside the house. Chastity answered the door looking from me to Miss Amelia as if bowled over at the sight of us.
“Well, well, well. What do you know? I never expected Blanchards at my door this morning.”
She made it sound as if Miss Amelia and I were a pair of twos in a high-stakes poker game, but then I wasn’t happy either, coming here.
She stepped back and gestured grandly, inviting us into the high-ceilinged front hall with a huge crystal chandelier overhead.
“Harry’s out. You know, business, business, business. But why am I tellin’ Blanchards about that? You folks been here how long? Hundred years or so? Seen all kinds of things come and go, I’ll bet. Like Harry says, if it ain’t drought, it’s scab or some other leaf-browning thing.”
“That’s pecan ranching, Chastity.” Miss Amelia smiled and tipped her head to one side as she stepped across the grand foyer, in a hurry to get on about our business. She held her hands together at her chest, giving the impression of a spritely old lady just dying to talk ranching with this woman who came from who knew where . . . but with so much on her mind . . .
“Well, don’t I know it?” Chastity threw her hands in the air as she led us from the white-tiled front hall into a cold and darkly paneled living room with the windows firmly shut and covered by gold drapes. Lights burned everywhere and air-conditioned air blew hard enough to ruffle the frilly doilies on every table. “Now we got us this drought. Harry’s so worried. If we don’t get rain soon . . .”
She interrupted herself to see to her hostess duties. “You two have a seat here and I’ll go get Bessie to bring us some sweet tea . . .” She turned in her high-heeled, nail-studded boots, to make her way out to the kitchen. “It’s about time the three of us sat down and had us a good chat.”
“Bless your heart, Chastity,” she called after the woman. “Me and Lindy don’t need a single thing. We just came to take a look through Amos’s possessions. I’m still so distraught . . .”
Miss Amelia put a hand up, toward the direction of her forehead, then stopped and let the hand fall languidly to her side. “I’m sure you understand, Chastity. Some other day we’ll drop by and spend hours chitchattin’ . . .”
“Well, I don’t know.” The woman hesitated. “Harry’s not here. Maybe I shouldn’t let you go back there. It’s out in the big barn. That’s where he stayed. I woulda had him here in the house but Harry thought . . . well, since Amos was just a worker . . .”
I heard a rumble starting in Miss Amelia’s throat, and I hurried to step in. “Still, the man’s our kin.” I pulled out my best drawl. “You understand. Me and my meemaw here, why, all we want to do is see where our Amos was livin’ here at the last.”
Chastity stayed confused a minute more, before giving in. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with you two going out there. Family’s something
• • •
I turned in under the huge, square sign spelling RANCHO CONWAY and slowed to drive up the long paved road to the Conway house, bigger than our house. Actually bigger than anybody’s house. A real showplace. Like something straight out of the English countryside. Not exactly Texas, but surrounded with old pecan trees, branches lazily swaying in the hot afternoon breeze.
There was a white swing on the lawn and white wicker rockers with bright chintz cushions. This part of what they’d done with the place looked Southern, a place for ladies in long dresses and big bonnets to gather of a hot afternoon and sip their mint juleps while gossiping about their neighbors and declaring they hoped Davy Crockett was doing all right for himself over there at that Alamo.
The neatly trimmed lawn swept around the house and down toward the Colorado on one side, back to brand-new barns on the other.
I rang the bell, listening to a big gong sound inside the house. Chastity answered the door looking from me to Miss Amelia as if bowled over at the sight of us.
“Well, well, well. What do you know? I never expected Blanchards at my door this morning.”
She made it sound as if Miss Amelia and I were a pair of twos in a high-stakes poker game, but then I wasn’t happy either, coming here.
She stepped back and gestured grandly, inviting us into the high-ceilinged front hall with a huge crystal chandelier overhead.
“Harry’s out. You know, business, business, business. But why am I tellin’ Blanchards about that? You folks been here how long? Hundred years or so? Seen all kinds of things come and go, I’ll bet. Like Harry says, if it ain’t drought, it’s scab or some other leaf-browning thing.”
“That’s pecan ranching, Chastity.” Miss Amelia smiled and tipped her head to one side as she stepped across the grand foyer, in a hurry to get on about our business. She held her hands together at her chest, giving the impression of a spritely old lady just dying to talk ranching with this woman who came from who knew where . . . but with so much on her mind . . .
“Well, don’t I know it?” Chastity threw her hands in the air as she led us from the white-tiled front hall into a cold and darkly paneled living room with the windows firmly shut and covered by gold drapes. Lights burned everywhere and air-conditioned air blew hard enough to ruffle the frilly doilies on every table. “Now we got us this drought. Harry’s so worried. If we don’t get rain soon . . .”
She interrupted herself to see to her hostess duties. “You two have a seat here and I’ll go get Bessie to bring us some sweet tea . . .” She turned in her high-heeled, nail-studded boots, to make her way out to the kitchen. “It’s about time the three of us sat down and had us a good chat.”
“Bless your heart, Chastity,” she called after the woman. “Me and Lindy don’t need a single thing. We just came to take a look through Amos’s possessions. I’m still so distraught . . .”
Miss Amelia put a hand up, toward the direction of her forehead, then stopped and let the hand fall languidly to her side. “I’m sure you understand, Chastity. Some other day we’ll drop by and spend hours chitchattin’ . . .”
“Well, I don’t know.” The woman hesitated. “Harry’s not here. Maybe I shouldn’t let you go back there. It’s out in the big barn. That’s where he stayed. I woulda had him here in the house but Harry thought . . . well, since Amos was just a worker . . .”
I heard a rumble starting in Miss Amelia’s throat, and I hurried to step in. “Still, the man’s our kin.” I pulled out my best drawl. “You understand. Me and my meemaw here, why, all we want to do is see where our Amos was livin’ here at the last.”
Chastity stayed confused a minute more, before giving in. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with you two going out there. Family’s something
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