(LB2) Shakespeare's Landlord by Harris Charlaine

Author:Harris, Charlaine [Harris, Charlaine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 1996-03-23T07:00:00+00:00

AS I SLID out of my car at the Winthrops’ back door, I decided I was excited, and scared. But most of all, I felt unsettled, a feeling I was having trouble enjoying. I’m not used to having so many variables to contend with, I realized.

But I had to put all that away in the back of my mind and get to work. I let myself in, locked the door behind me, and looked around the kitchen. The cook, Earline Poffard, had been at work; the counter was spotless and there was a full garbage can under the sink. Earline comes in twice a week, and she cooks enough suppers for the Winthrops to eat until she comes again. I had never met Earline face-to-face, but I knew her from her work; Earline labels everything she prepares, all her garbage lands in the bag, and she scours all the dishes herself, drys them, and puts them away. I have only to clean the outside of the microwave and the door of the dishwasher from time to time, and mop, and the kitchen cleaning is done.

For the first time, it occurred to me that I would like to meet Earline. Perhaps Earline was equally curious about me.

The habits of years reasserted themselves, and I set to work. I didn’t want to be late to class this night; I looked forward to seeing Marshall my lover, and I didn’t want Marshall my sensei to be shooting me the disapproving look he’d given me last time.

I’d gotten the dusting done and was getting the mop out of the closet when I heard a key in the lock.

“Hey, Lily,” called a casual male voice.

“Hi, Bobo,” I replied, making a mental note to tell Beanie she needed a new mop.

“Hey, what about that old guy getting killed over by your place?” Bobo said, his voice getting closer.

I glanced over my shoulder. The boy—the six-foot-two boy—was leaning against the kitchen sink, looking spectacular in cutoffs and an Umbro shirt. His grin betrayed his age, but his body had grown up ahead of him. I answer the phone while I’m working at the Winthrops’, and most of the calls in the summer are inevitably for Bobo. He has his own phone, of course, but he gives only particular friends that number, much to his mother’s irritation.

“He died,” I said.

“That’s no answer, Lily! C’mon, you must know all about it.”

“I’m sure you know as much about it as I do.”

“Is it true someone called old Claude Friedrich while he was sacked out and told him where the body was?”

“Yes.”

“See, now that’s the kind of thing I want you to tell me.”

“You already knew that, Bobo.” My patience had almost evaporated.

“Well…give me the inside scoop. You gotta know something that wasn’t in the paper, Lily.”

“I doubt it.” Bobo loved to talk, and I knew he’d follow me around the house if I gave him the slightest encouragement.

“How old are you, Bobo?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m a senior. I’m seventeen,” he said.

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