Grandfather stopped at the foot of the stairs, glanced quickly around at all of us, and finally spoke.
“Morning,” he said.
Everyone murmured “good morning” in reply and then they all waited to see what else he’d say.
“How lovely to see you again,” Cordelia was using her best Southern hostess voice. I could imagine our ancestors using much the same tone to a Union officer who’d arrived intending to bivouac his troops on the front lawn.
“Er … likewise,” Grandfather muttered.
After an awkward pause, I took pity on him.
“Nice of you to drop by to see that Cordelia is okay,” I said. “I’m sure the two of you will have as much time as you want to catch up later. But shouldn’t you be heading off to your breakfast now?”
“Um, yes.” Grandfather looked pathetically grateful.
“Yes, of course,” Anne said. “Ms. Delia, I’ll drop by later, if that’s okay.”
She turned and hurried down the walk.
“Come on, you old reprobate,” Caroline said. She took Grandfather by the arm and led him back down the walk.
“That was very kind, Meg,” Mother said, as we watched the blue sedan leaving.
“I should probably let him know that I don’t really hold a grudge,” Cordelia said. “But not just yet.”
Just then the Twinmobile pulled up in front of the house. We watched as a door slid open and Dad stepped out. He was dressed in a white shirt, khaki slacks, and a blue sports jacket, and he was wearing the just-in-case tie that Michael always kept in the glove compartment of the Twinmobile in case he had to look presentable on short notice. Dad dithered for a few minutes outside the gate, then squared his shoulders and marched up the walk.
He reached the foot of the steps and stared up at us. I tried to recall the last time I’d seen Dad speechless and failed utterly. He and Cordelia stared at each other for several long moments.
“Why don’t you two go inside and get acquainted?” Mother said. She handed Cordelia a teacup and gave her a gentle shove toward the front door. Cordelia obediently went inside. Mother poured another cup and gestured to Dad, who stumbled up the stairs, took the cup, and followed his mother inside.
“I think they could use a little privacy,” Mother said as she pulled the door closed. Then she poured a third cup for herself. After glancing at the Adirondack chairs she sailed over to sit regally in one of the white wicker chairs.
“Michael’s waiting,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the Twinmobile. “Call us from the hospital. I’m sure you’ll be just fine, but you know your father will feel so much better once he knows that nice neurologist friend of his has poked and prodded you and given you a clean bill of health.”
“Will do,” I said.
As I walked toward the car, I realized my footsteps were dragging. I might know the answer to the question of who killed Annabel and Theo Weaver, but I hadn’t even begun to ask most of the million questions I had about Cordelia, and Dad’s birth, and the Lee branch of my family tree. And how would Grandfather deal with the arrival of Cordelia in our lives? And how would we explain her sudden arrival to Josh and Jamie? And—
Time enough for all that later. Life with my family, never dull, was about to get even more interesting.
When I neared the car, both Josh and Jamie ran out to throw themselves on me.
“Mommy, are you okay?” Jamie asked.
“Daddy brought you a big doggie bag,” Josh said. “Can I have some of your bacon?”
As we drove off, I could still see Mother sitting on the porch, sipping her cup of tea and standing guard over the reunion.
ALSO BY DONNA ANDREWS
Duck the Halls
The Hen of the Baskervilles
Some Like it Hawk
The Real Macaw
Stork Raving Mad
Swan for the Money
Six Geese A-Slaying
Cockatiels at Seven
The Penguin Who Knew Too Much
No Nest for the Wicket
Owls Well That Ends Well
We’ll Always Have Parrots
Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon
Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos
Murder with Puffins
Murder with Peacocks
About the Author
DONNA ANDREWS has won the Agatha, Anthony, and Barry Awards, an RT Book Reviews Award for best first novel, and three Lefty and two Toby Bromberg Awards for funniest mystery. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the Private Investigators and Security Association. Andrews lives in Reston, Virginia.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE EMUS. Copyright © 2014 by Donna Andrews. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover illustration by Stanley Martucci
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-00950-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-02300-1 (e-book)
eISBN 9781250023001
First Edition: July 2014
The Good, the Bad, and the Emus Page 31