Death Climbs a Tree Read Online Free Page A

him. At least thirty. Though who am I to say? Fred’s that much older than I am.
    Her attempt to be rational wasn’t working. The difference between her early forties and Fred’s early fifties hardly seemed to matter, but at twenty-one, Andrew was still a college student and her baby. She was fighting an uphill battle to try to remember that he was an adult.
    â€œI knew her mother,” Annie said. “She looks just like her.”
    â€œKnew?”
    â€œShe died young. Hit by a truck. Those girls had to finish growing up by themselves. Their father was never much use. Then he died, too.”
    How much difference had that made in how Sylvia turned out? Joan had been a grown woman by the time her own parents died. Young, but grown. “And she has a sister?”
    â€œTwo or three. They’ve scattered. Sylvia’s pretty much on her own now. I wonder if she’ll lose her job over this business.”
    â€œShe said she had vacation time coming.”
    â€œIf they honor it,” Annie said.
    â€œShe works at Fulford. Why wouldn’t they honor it?”
    â€œYou never know. People can always find an excuse to let you go.”
    â€œIf she loses her job, the orchestra might lose her for good.” A new worry, but she banished it. The orchestra was her other job. It wasn’t fair to the center to let it intrude here. “Anything happening here, Annie?”
    Annie tucked her knitting into its bag and yielded Joan’s desk chair. She waved at the mail. “A few phone messages, but nothing to worry about. You want me to put your name in the pot for lunch?” The center was a senior nutrition site, which served low-cost hot meals at noon. Annie called them “eats for old folks,” but anyone was welcome to eat there, and Joan did from time to time, especially during the cold winter months.
    â€œYes, please.” She hadn’t asked Andrew to fix her a sandwich while he was raiding the kitchen for Sylvia, and the elderly Fuji apple in her desk drawer wouldn’t see her through the day. Odds were good she wouldn’t manage supper before rehearsal in the evening, either.
    Routine as it was, the rest of the morning flew by. Long before lunchtime, the meat loaf and apple pie were calling to Joan’s nose. She made herself take part in the center’s late-morning exercise class to make up for the morning walk she’d missed, but also to keep herself from drooling over the papers on her desk.
    When the time finally came, Sylvia Purcell was the topic of those gathered at the long folding tables.
    â€œI remember how we loved those woods when we were children,” one man said. “We tramped through them and thought we were great outdoorsmen.”
    â€œAnd what are we going to breathe when they cut down all the trees, I’d like to know,” said his wife. “Someone ought to give that girl in the tree a medal.”
    â€œHer father would split a gut if he knew she was pulling such a dumb stunt,” a second man said.
    â€œI think her mother would get a kick out of it,” said the woman next to him. “She was big on environmental causes. That woman had more causes than anyone else I know.”
    â€œShe cared about poor people,” Annie said. “And this project they’re fighting is for poor people.”
    â€œYes,” said Mabel Dunn. “Like Cindy Thickstun. You know Cindy, and her daughter. The daughter has four little kids and barely makes ends meet. Since her husband took off, she’s been living with her mom. That makes six people in Cindy’s little two-bedroom house. Cindy’s sleeping on the sofa, and her grandchildren are really getting on her nerves, day after day, all cramped like that. She can’t pay their rent, and she’s desperate to move them into decent housing her daughter can afford. I know they’re on the list for those apartments. That’s who Miss