Chapters (50)
- COVER
- PRAISE FOR TITLES BY MIRANDA JAMES
- ALSO BY MIRANDA JAMES
- TITLE PAGE
- COPYRIGHT
- DEDICATION
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- AFTERWORD
- LETTER TO THE READER
- SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART
Marter rolled his eyes. “You don’t know my grandma. She’s loving every bit of attention she’s getting, like an old coonhound soaking up the sunshine. People done been ignoring her so long, and now all they want to do is hang around her like she’s some little tin god or something. She probably ain’t got many years left, and I don’t want one of them crazy fans of hers to kill her off before she’s due to go.”
“Is her heart really as frail as that? The two times I’ve seen her, I have to say she looked like she was in pretty good shape for someone who’s about to be a hundred years old.”
“Her heart’s okay, far as I know. She ain’t been to the doctor in years, though. Don’t believe in ’em.” Marter stared hard at me. “But what I’m talking about here is an actual honest-to-goodness lowdown threat.”
NINETEEN
“Has someone actually threatened harm to your grandmother?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Diesel, upset by my obvious agitation, pushed against my legs and meowed. I stroked his head while I waited for Marter to explain his provocative statement.
“Yes siree Bob, they sure have.” Marter nodded several times as if to emphasize his point. “That funny little guy that claims he’s a publisher, what’s-his-name? Eagleton, that’s it.” His head bobbed again. “He got downright ugly on the phone with me last night. He was carrying on all about how Grandma done promised him he could publish those books of hers—you know, the ones ain’t never been published before?” When I nodded, he continued. “He said he ain’t gonna stand for Grandma going back on her word now that she thinks one of them big New York City outfits might be interested.”
Marter sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and focused his gaze on me. He nodded two times more, as if to say, See, what did I tell you?
“I’m sure he was angry with your grandmother”—and privately I thought Eagleton had a right to be, if she was planning to renege on an agreement with him—“but I’m not sure that constitutes an actual threat. Was that all he said, he wasn’t going to stand for it?”
“No, he said more than that.” Marter scowled. “He said, ‘Miz Cartwright don’t want me mad at her.’ In fact, he musta said that two or three times.”
I had to admit, those words did sound like a threat. A vague one, but still a threat. I said as much to Marter.
“It don’t sound that vague to me.” Marter’s tone was heated. “That little bastard means to do my grandma harm if she don’t do what he wants.”