Beautiful, Dirty, Rich: A Novel by Mason J. D

Author:Mason, J. D. [Mason, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-07-03T00:00:00+00:00

Handle Me

Mary Travis was close to eighty when she died. She’d lost both kidneys and was on dialysis, had suffered a debilitating stroke and several heart attacks, but it was a fall that killed her. She’d tripped on an area rug, fell, and hit her head on the corner of the solid mahogany coffee table.

“The coroner said she’d been dead nearly a day before someone finally found her,” Solomon’s mother said, somberly. She’d come by the house to go through the last of Mary’s things.

Mary had raised Solomon’s mother and her two sisters after their mother had died and their father left them, claiming he’d send for them as soon as he found a job out in Colorado, but he never did.

“It just breaks my heart knowing she laid there, unable to move or to call for help, and all alone.” She shook her head. “Mary was loved by too many people to have been left alone.”

Mother Mary, he and his cousins had all called her. Solomon had spent so much time over here that he had almost forgotten what his own home looked like. Mary made cakes from scratch, let him help wash clothes on that old scrubbing board she had and crank the handle to that antique washing machine with the rollers that you had to feed the clothes through manually.

Solomon’s mother picked up what looked like an old photo album or scrapbook, and a photo fell onto the floor. He picked it up, and was shocked by what he saw, a faded school picture of Desi Green smiling back at him, wearing a white sweater underneath a plaid vest, and a plastic headband holding back thick curls. He flipped it over and read the cursive handwriting on the back.

To Miss Mary. Love Desi, age 16

“You know who that is?” his mother asked, looking over his shoulder.

“She looks familiar.” He swallowed, not seeing the need to tell his mother who she was.

“That’s Desi Green,” his mother announced.

He looked at her.

“The one that killed that rich man, Gatewood,” she continued. “Mary was on that jury that convicted her. She was the forewoman.”

After packing up Mary’s things and moving them across town to his mother’s shed behind the house, Solomon called Desi as soon as he said his good-byes and climbed back in behind the wheel of his car.

“Solomon?” she answered.

“Hey, Desi,” he said, reluctantly.

As soon as she answered he knew he’d made a mistake in calling her. Solomon should’ve thought this through better before giving into impulse and dialing her number. He was usually more levelheaded than this. When things didn’t add up, he’d wait, analyze, and usually discover that nothing was as it seemed on the surface.

“Um … how are you doing?” she asked, trying not to hide the fact that she was surprised to hear from him.

“Good. I’m good.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Solomon sat in his car parked outside of his mother’s house. “No. Yes, Desi. I think there is something wrong.”

He replayed the last few minutes in

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