The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (great novels of all time .txt) 📗

turned between two houses onto a road which was little more than a sandy track split in two by scraggy crabgrass. She pulled to a stop next to a freshly painted boxed cart filled with husked coconuts. Up ahead, he saw three cars parked beneath the shade of an almond tree, including a sleek 1982 Chevrolet Camaro. He cursed under his breath. “Paul.”

Holden looked across at Eileen. Her face was impassive, but the look in her eyes didn’t escape his notice. He chewed the inside of his lip, blaming himself for tainting her view of Paul.

Sand crunched beneath his feet as he walked to the chattel house with the open front door. Holden was about to step inside when he bumped into an elderly man and two tall, hulking figures.

“Oh, dear,” said the old man as he peered owlishly up at Holden. “Young Davis, I should have known you’d be here.”

Holden smiled and gestured to the slim gentleman. “This is Dr Thorpe. He’s the government pathologist. He pronounces the time of death whenever a person dies outside of a medical facility. Dr Thorpe, this is my new assistant, Eileen.”

“Lovely to meet you, young lady.” He shook her hand loosely and said, “I mustn’t tarry; I’m trying to get to town for my pudding and souse before they sell out.”

“Uh…today isn’t Saturday, Dr Thorpe.”

“It isn’t?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose as he stared at Holden. “Oh yes…too much work and too little time, you see. Well, I’m going home then.” And with that, he bustled down the little lane hitching his pants as he went.

Out of the corner of his eye, Holden noticed Eileen checking her watch. It wasn’t even noon yet and Dr Thorpe was already clocking out for the day. Typical.                                          “He’s…nice.”

“Yes,” Holden grinned. “He’s a little eccentric, but very nice. He was doing this since I was a little boy, so you can imagine just how long he’s been around. He’s retiring next month, so you may not see him again after today.”

Holden turned to the other two people and said, "And these are Dorothy and Lloyd Greaves, owners of Happy Home Funeral Parlour. This is Eileen."

Holden held back a grin as Eileen stared at the siblings; he knew the questions that would come later. Dorothy clasped Eileen’s hand briefly before she turned to Holden. Even without high-heels, Dorothy was as tall as both of the men. She leaned in and asked in a husky whisper, "Is Clifford with you?"

Holden gave a slight shake of his head. "He already came and went.”

Dorothy pouted. Lloyd's mouth soured as he tapped his foot and looked at his watch. “These country gizzards are broke and we're late,” he grunted.

Holden raised an eyebrow. “They’re my relatives.”

Lloyd didn’t seem to care. Without saying another word, he walked to a dark car, slipped behind the wheel and started the engine.

Dorothy sighed, her gentle disposition rattled by her brother's rudeness. "You know how he is." She wiped a smear of pink lipstick off Holden's cheek and smacked him playfully on his chest. “Tell Clifford to call me. I hope to see you again soon, Eileen," the older lady said as she put her handbag in the crook of her arm and carried her sturdy frame to the car.

“Are they twins?” whispered Eileen as she watched Lloyd steered the car onto the main road.

“No, they’ve just got their father’s genes. You can always pick out a Greaves from a mile away.” Holden pulled back the curtain and ushered her inside. “After you.”

The Rediffusion box hummed in the background as a small crowd gathered in the living room. Paul stood in the centre of the room pouring shots of brandy for everyone. His resemblance to Holden was undeniable, with the exception that he was slim for no good reason, making him look like a tall, dark egret. Holden eyed the crystal decanter with a lavish ‘P’ etched into a crest on the bottle’s neck and grumbled beneath his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eileen lift a shoulder and say, “You’ve got to admit it’s a nice touch. Liquoring up people to seal a deal is just good business.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed when he saw Holden looking at the decanter, but he took care to smile broadly as he said, “Oh dearest me, Holden came to offer his sympathies. Sit down, brother, and join us in a drink to send off Cousin Earl.”

Holden plastered on a smile identical to Paul’s and said, “Oh, I shouldn’t.” He turned to the family sitting on the chair. “But just know that I feel poorly about Uncle Earl’s passing.”

Paul smiled tightly. “He’s our cousin; he married Beryl who’s Mummy’s first cousin.”

Holden stared back. "And we call her aunty since she’s Mummy’s age, so obviously, we call him our uncle.”

“Cousin.”

“Uncle.”

“Jesus, two of you are worse than Cain and Abel,” Eileen muttered as she rolled her eyes.

Holden clenched his fist and was about to tell Paul just what he could do with his crystal decanter when he felt a gentle hand on his arm. Eileen stepped forward and addressed the family members who sat in a line on the three-seater chair. “We came to pay our condolences and see if there’s anything we can do to help.”

Holden sucked in a breath realizing how unprofessional it was for his assistant to have to quell the bickering with his brother. He had to take charge of the situation.                                           “We’re here for you, Laverne,” Holden said to the plump young woman sandwiched between two old ladies. He leaned forward and hugged her. She sniffed and waved her handkerchief at the brothers. “It is the sugar, you know. He didn’t listen. Doctor said to cut out the sweetbread and the turnovers, but he would still eat them