The Wicked Garden by Henson Lenora

Author:Henson, Lenora [Henson, Lenora]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Poppy Press
Published: 2013-04-21T05:00:00+00:00

Teddy, who had been observing Gretchel and Bea from the window, watched in horror as Gretchel started slapping at the side of her head. She looked like someone who had been at the beach all day, but Teddy knew it was voices—not sea water—his friend was trying to get out of her ears.

“Uh-oh,” he mumbled.

“What did that wicked old woman do now?” Ame asked, scooting in next to Teddy to look out the window.

“Maybe your mom’s finally going to get what she deserves,” Michelle whispered into Zach’s ear as she put an arm around him.

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Zach said, and pushed her away.

The mourners watched Gretchel come into the house. Only Teddy, standing close to the front door, saw the look in her eye. He’d seen that look before. “This is not going to be pretty,” he muttered.

Gretchel stopped for a moment and swung her head like a bear scenting danger. Her mad gaze landed on a display that Bea had set up before the funeral: Troy’s golf bag, leaning against an easel that held a blown-up version of the studio portrait that graced his business cards.

Gretchel seemed almost calm as she glided across the room. Nevertheless, Michelle pulled Zach and Ben toward her, and Teddy held Ame when she made a move to intercept her mother.

Standing in front of the golf bag, Gretchel considered several clubs before she made her choice: a driver. Nano-technology titanium face. Gold-plated. Imported from Japan. It cost more than she earned in three months when she was doing landscaping in college.

Gretchel hefted it in her hand, feeling its weight, and, once again, the crowd fell away. All she could see was her next target: a curio cabinet in the dining room. It was filled with religious figurines, all from Bea. They were ugly and insipid and uninspired, and Gretchel knew that Bea had known that she would hate them. They weren’t gifts. They were insults. Everyone cleared a path as Gretchel strode toward the cabinet.

“Gretchel, please calm down,” Ella begged.

“Give ‘em hell, Baby Girl!” Miss Poni cackled from the couch.

“Get back, everyone!” Gretchel’s brother, Marcus, yelled.

The neighbors and country-club chums, congregating around the tastefully nondescript dining-room table Troy had chosen, scampered away in fear as Gretchel strode toward them, driver in hand.

She paused before the curio cabinet, raised the club like a baseball bat, and swung with all her might. Then she swung again, and again. Cold cuts and casseroles were covered in a shower of broken glass, crystal fragments, and porcelain shards.

“Everybody out!” Ella ordered.

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