Read Online 2 Death Makes the Cut by Janice Hamrick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Janice Hamrick
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started inching toward the door.
I followed him. It was all I could do not to grab his arm and shake him. Or kick him in the pants. “You cannot possibly think that Fred Argus smoked marijuana.”
“I didn’t say he smoked it. But he might have been dealing.”
This was even worse. “Never!” I all but shouted. “Never, never, never. You don’t understand.”
A cheerful voice from the door interrupted. “Here you are! I was looking for you everywhere.”
We both turned, a little startled. My cousin Kyla was standing in the door frame. For an instant, the golden August sunlight streamed over her dark curling hair and slim figure, lighting her up like a statue of a Greek goddess. I could almost hear Detective Gallagher’s jaw hitting the floor.
I didn’t know whether I was glad to see her or not. I absolutely could not let Detective Gallagher go on thinking that Fred had been a drug dealer, but on the other hand I didn’t know how I was going to be able to convince him otherwise.
I swallowed hard and made the introductions. “Kyla, this is Detective Gallagher. He’s here about Coach Fred. Detective, this is my cousin, Kyla Shore.”
She advanced, holding out her hand. Like me, she’s tall, but like me, she had to look up to meet his eyes. She gave him a slow, warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Detective. I hope I’m not interrupting. It sounded like you were in the middle of an argument.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” he said, looking from Kyla to me and back again. “Cousins. I can certainly see the resemblance.”
Kyla frowned at him. “The light in here isn’t very good,” she said shortly. “Anyway, what’s going on?”
“Do you work here at the school?” he asked her.
She snorted. “Not likely. I just stopped by to talk to Jocelyn.” She directed a glance at me. “Your cell phone is off by the way.”
I brushed this aside. “Coach Fred…” I started again, but Kyla interrupted.
“Who’s Coach Fred? And what are the police doing here?” The first question was thrown at me, but the second was very clearly directed to the detective, and the tone suggested it was a welcome and happy surprise. The look she gave him would not have won any awards in a subtlety contest.
“Our tennis coach died today,” I said. “Or last night. We found him today,” I added, suddenly feeling unsure of anything.
Kyla blinked and glanced around, taking in the black powder on the desk and shelves. “In here?” she squeaked.
At Detective Gallagher’s brief nod, she retreated to the door and stepped outside with quick light steps. We followed her. A hundred yards away, the football team was running drills, the boys bulked to twice their normal width by the padding in the black and gold uniforms. The flow of cars leaving the school had thinned to a trickle. I sneezed unexpectedly.
“Bless you,” they said in unison.
“Look, you just can’t think Coach Fred would have anything to do with that.” I pointed to the baggie he carried.
“Of course. I’m aware there might be some other explanation, and I assure you that we’ll look into every possibility.”
I ground my teeth in frustration. “You have to understand who Coach Fred was. I don’t care if you found him carrying a garbage bag full of marijuana and wearing weed pants, there would still be an explanation other than smoking or selling.”
As an answer, the detective handed us each a card. “You can reach me at those numbers,” he said, and he left without even a goodbye.
Kyla and I watched him go, I with frustration, she with appreciation. Then she turned to me. “Weed pants?”
“That complete ass is saying he found marijuana in Fred’s desk.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Not sorry to have seen that though,” she tipped her chin after the detective’s car. “That’s one fine-looking man.”
I looked at her in exasperation.
“What?” she asked. “He is nice-looking. Why shouldn’t I
I followed him. It was all I could do not to grab his arm and shake him. Or kick him in the pants. “You cannot possibly think that Fred Argus smoked marijuana.”
“I didn’t say he smoked it. But he might have been dealing.”
This was even worse. “Never!” I all but shouted. “Never, never, never. You don’t understand.”
A cheerful voice from the door interrupted. “Here you are! I was looking for you everywhere.”
We both turned, a little startled. My cousin Kyla was standing in the door frame. For an instant, the golden August sunlight streamed over her dark curling hair and slim figure, lighting her up like a statue of a Greek goddess. I could almost hear Detective Gallagher’s jaw hitting the floor.
I didn’t know whether I was glad to see her or not. I absolutely could not let Detective Gallagher go on thinking that Fred had been a drug dealer, but on the other hand I didn’t know how I was going to be able to convince him otherwise.
I swallowed hard and made the introductions. “Kyla, this is Detective Gallagher. He’s here about Coach Fred. Detective, this is my cousin, Kyla Shore.”
She advanced, holding out her hand. Like me, she’s tall, but like me, she had to look up to meet his eyes. She gave him a slow, warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Detective. I hope I’m not interrupting. It sounded like you were in the middle of an argument.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” he said, looking from Kyla to me and back again. “Cousins. I can certainly see the resemblance.”
Kyla frowned at him. “The light in here isn’t very good,” she said shortly. “Anyway, what’s going on?”
“Do you work here at the school?” he asked her.
She snorted. “Not likely. I just stopped by to talk to Jocelyn.” She directed a glance at me. “Your cell phone is off by the way.”
I brushed this aside. “Coach Fred…” I started again, but Kyla interrupted.
“Who’s Coach Fred? And what are the police doing here?” The first question was thrown at me, but the second was very clearly directed to the detective, and the tone suggested it was a welcome and happy surprise. The look she gave him would not have won any awards in a subtlety contest.
“Our tennis coach died today,” I said. “Or last night. We found him today,” I added, suddenly feeling unsure of anything.
Kyla blinked and glanced around, taking in the black powder on the desk and shelves. “In here?” she squeaked.
At Detective Gallagher’s brief nod, she retreated to the door and stepped outside with quick light steps. We followed her. A hundred yards away, the football team was running drills, the boys bulked to twice their normal width by the padding in the black and gold uniforms. The flow of cars leaving the school had thinned to a trickle. I sneezed unexpectedly.
“Bless you,” they said in unison.
“Look, you just can’t think Coach Fred would have anything to do with that.” I pointed to the baggie he carried.
“Of course. I’m aware there might be some other explanation, and I assure you that we’ll look into every possibility.”
I ground my teeth in frustration. “You have to understand who Coach Fred was. I don’t care if you found him carrying a garbage bag full of marijuana and wearing weed pants, there would still be an explanation other than smoking or selling.”
As an answer, the detective handed us each a card. “You can reach me at those numbers,” he said, and he left without even a goodbye.
Kyla and I watched him go, I with frustration, she with appreciation. Then she turned to me. “Weed pants?”
“That complete ass is saying he found marijuana in Fred’s desk.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Not sorry to have seen that though,” she tipped her chin after the detective’s car. “That’s one fine-looking man.”
I looked at her in exasperation.
“What?” she asked. “He is nice-looking. Why shouldn’t I
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