Read Online Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1) by M.K. Gilroy - Free Book Online

mind during and after our crime scene review was the victim herself. Sandra. A real person with a real life, filled with joy and sorrow, dreams and disappointments. And she was gone.
    We are a product of our upbringing and mine was very religious. There were signs of that scattered through the modest little Chicago row house I grew up in, from the picture of Jesus knocking on a door that hung by the thermostat in the hall leading to our three bedrooms, to the big, beat-up, black leather Bible that sat on Dad’s nightstand. Sandra had no such imagery anywhere. My mind started wandering toward thoughts of the afterlife, but I forced myself back on task.
    Konkade left first. When we exited the building, we saw him talking with the uniforms that were first on the scene, probably reviewing protocol on how potential witnesses were separated and the evidence protected.
    We reported to Zaworski on the front lawn and then Blackshear barked out orders to a group of ten uniformed officers. The two youngest were put on garbage pull. Seniority does have a few rewards. The rest were given a few instructions and assigned to help us start canvassing the immediate and adjoining blocks. When we met together three hours later, all of us had the same story. Nobody remembered seeing anything unusual the night before. We didn’t talk to anyone who actually knew Sandra Reed. Chicago is supposedly a city of neighborhoods, but this section of Washington Park wasn’t being very neighborly right now.
    I went home, did my makeshift workout, and took a long shower. I read through my notes. If you cry, this would be a good time cry. But I don’t. If you yell and cuss and throw things, this would also be the time for that. I just yell and throw things. I did pray but I still didn’t feel very spiritual.
    I tried to get back into the Child novel but my mind was still racing around the crime scene, so I put the book on my nightstand and turned off the light. I fell asleep with light jazz playing in the background to soothe my frazzled psyche. I had put on an old Larry Carlton CD, On Solid Ground , which I like a lot for the tunes, but also because it is guitar- rather than sax-driven. But sleep didn’t come even when Larry played “Josie.”
    Just thoughts of Sandra. I don’t know what time I drifted off, but it wasn’t that far away from time to wake up. No wonder I was late to church.
    Kaylen didn’t know that. I’m not mad at her. I love my sister, both of my sisters, fiercely. I just wish they understood me a little better.

12
    “SO WHAT’S GOING on with Dell?” Kaylen asks.
    I am chewing a large bite of grilled chicken, so I don’t answer right away. I’ve already devoured the twice-baked potatoes, fruit salad, broccoli and cheese, three Sister Schubert’s dinner rolls with plenty of butter, and a few bites of Kendra’s macaroni and cheese.
    I think that macaroni and cheese is all the kid eats. And not just any brand. It has to be Kraft or the noodles don’t taste right, she claims. Her parents need to make Kendra eat green stuff—and not just lime jello. If I had to eat vegetables growing up, then Kendra should, too. If they’d make her eat more healthy foods, I’d eat healthier, especially when I sit next to her at Sunday dinner.
    My news reporter sister, Klarissa, is carefully cutting another microscopic sliver of chicken, probably not big enough to choke a lab rat. She puts it silently in her mouth and chews slowly. She has to be just going through the motions; there’s not enough meat to require more than two to three bites before swallowing. Most of her food is still on her plate and there wasn’t much to start with. Kaylen should be grilling Klarissa about her producer pushing her to stay skinny for the camera, rather than bugging me about Dell.
    Kaylen gets distracted by four-year-old James, who needs another glass of milk, so I’m off the hook for a second. I stick another bite of chicken in my mouth so I still have an