Murder Drama With Your Llama by Erin McCarthy & Erin McCarthy

Author:Erin McCarthy & Erin McCarthy [Love, Kathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Erin McCarthy

Seven

“I just cannot believe you are going to stay in that backwoods little town.”

I sighed into my cell phone, just imagining my mother’s appalled expression. “Mom, this town is beautiful and I wouldn’t exactly call it backwoods. You make it sound like I’m in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors for miles around.”

I dropped onto the window seat of the room I’d chosen as my bedroom. Since I discovered Hannah was my mysterious nighttime stalker, I decided I could actually stop sleeping on the sofa. I couldn’t quite bring myself to use my grandmother’s room. It still felt like her space and it seemed somehow impolite to intrude on it. Plus, I liked the coziness of this room with its slanted walls under the eaves with its lilac-covered wallpaper in purples and pinks.

“Well, there is no decent shopping for miles around. And certainly no Starbucks.” I could practically see my mother’s shudder through the phone.

“There are plenty of shops. I actually saw this one place that has the coolest pottery.”

“Oh God, pottery. Next you’ll be telling me you bought a quilt. Or even more ridiculous, made one.”

I glanced at the quilt on the bed, made up of squares that matched the walls. Well, I hadn’t bought it, so that was something, right?

“Mom, you told me it was time to do something with my life. And I am.”

“Your father and I meant a real job. You went from acting to running a pub. How’s that any different than trying to be an actress and waiting tables here in L.A.?”

Her words stung a little. “It’s a lot different. I own the pub. And I own this house.”

“That house,” Mom groaned. “That ancient cluttered house. I can only imagine how much junk my mother added over the years since I was last there.”

I couldn’t imagine my mother growing up here. My mother’s style had always been clean, minimalist and modern. I suspected I was the only preschooler in the US who had an all-white, mid-century modern playroom.

“She has a lot of pretty amazing stuff,” I said defensively, mainly because I really liked the things my grammy had collected. They were interesting. They were personal unlike the houses I grew up in. Everything had a story. “Did you know that Grammy was on the cover of the Woodstock album?”

I’d discovered the album cover framed in one of the other bedrooms, a blurry figure circled with her name and an arrow handwritten over it.

“You mean the person you can’t even make out, sprawled on the ground, covered with a dirty blanket and surrounded by litter?”

I loved my mom, but sometimes she really did get on my nerves.

“I think it’s pretty awesome she was there. And on the album cover too.”

“Who even knows if that’s really her,” she scoffed. “Your grandmother never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”

I really didn’t want to argue. After all, I didn’t know my grandmother, at least not in person, even though being here the past few days, exploring her home had made me feel close to her.

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