Read Online Death on a Deadline by Christine Lynxwiler - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Lynxwiler
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barely knew the man.”
“Didn’t you say you were on a zoning committee with him?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Well, yeah. And I’m sure I saw him from a distance when I went into the news office to take out an ad for a cashier, too, but that hardly constitutes knowing him.”
Neither of us mentioned the fact that Brendan played golf. It didn’t seem possible that I might be on a date with a murderer, but it was time I faced facts. Someone in our town had probably killed Hank. “You never had lunch with him or anything?” I asked, fully aware that if Alex were here he’d be kicking me under the figurative table.
Brendan looked at me like I’d sprouted green antennae and grown an extra head. “Me have lunch with Hank? Why would I?”
I didn’t spend three years teaching school without learning to recognize an evasive answer. I also knew that sometimes you’re better off to let things drop for the time being. “It’s your turn to bowl.”
Brendan threw two quick gutter balls, then collapsed back in his seat. I picked up my ball from the rack, but his next question stopped me short.
“Maybe you should be thinking a little closer to home. Didn’t you say your nephew was taking golf lessons?”
“So?”
Brendan tapped the table with the stubby pencil. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
I huffed. “What’s understandable?”
“You’re in denial.”
“Denial? About Zac?” I tried to suck air into my lungs, but it felt like they were trapped on a one-dimensional planet and refused to expand. “Zac didn’t do it,” I said, through gritted teeth.
“Okay, whatever you say.”
We’d abandoned all pretext of bowling, but I still clutched the neon green ball. I ran my hand over the slick cool surface and fought the urge to lift it to my hot cheeks. Or better yet, slam it into Brendan’s smug face. The muscles in my jaw ached. My daily Bible study was from James, and I was trying desperately to control my tongue, but biting it until it bled might be a little extreme. “I think it’s time for us to call it a night.” I put the ball back on the rack beside us.
Brendan pushed to his feet, the look on his face reeking of false concern. “Jenna, honey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but it’s true the family is often the last to know.”
“I guess I’m the last to know a lot of things.” I ground out the words as I changed shoes. When I’d finished, I stood, then leaned toward Brendan and spoke softly for his ears only. “Like the fact that I’d rather spend every Friday night for the rest of my life at home, painting my cat’s toenails, than to go out with you again.”
I didn’t mind the walk home. The night air had never felt so cool and fresh. Some places were stale with bad company.
Six
“Oomph!” Carly grunted. “That ball has it in for me.” Her racket clattered to the hardwood floor. She laughed and sank down beside it. “Forget it, Jen. Racquetball isn’t my game.”
“You don’t know that! You haven’t even given it a chance.” I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms, giving my sister a measured glance. “Besides, it beats staying home and moping.”
Carly rubbed an angry-looking red spot on her leg. “At least staying home wasn’t giving me bruises. Besides, have you ever tried to mope around ten-year-old twins? Let’s call Mama and ask her how much moping she’s getting done tonight.”
“Nice try. Come on. Give it a few more minutes. If you still don’t like it, we’ll change and head to the sauna.”
Carly got to her feet and waved her racket around over her head with a grin. “Boomerang ball? Crazy sister? Sauna at the end? Bring it on.” She resumed the stance I’d shown her—knees slightly bent.
For the next ten minutes, she gave it her all. But when she collapsed to the floor again, gasping for air between her giggles, even I had to admit defeat.
Celebrating the end of the game, Carly did a victory dance into the locker
“Didn’t you say you were on a zoning committee with him?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Well, yeah. And I’m sure I saw him from a distance when I went into the news office to take out an ad for a cashier, too, but that hardly constitutes knowing him.”
Neither of us mentioned the fact that Brendan played golf. It didn’t seem possible that I might be on a date with a murderer, but it was time I faced facts. Someone in our town had probably killed Hank. “You never had lunch with him or anything?” I asked, fully aware that if Alex were here he’d be kicking me under the figurative table.
Brendan looked at me like I’d sprouted green antennae and grown an extra head. “Me have lunch with Hank? Why would I?”
I didn’t spend three years teaching school without learning to recognize an evasive answer. I also knew that sometimes you’re better off to let things drop for the time being. “It’s your turn to bowl.”
Brendan threw two quick gutter balls, then collapsed back in his seat. I picked up my ball from the rack, but his next question stopped me short.
“Maybe you should be thinking a little closer to home. Didn’t you say your nephew was taking golf lessons?”
“So?”
Brendan tapped the table with the stubby pencil. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
I huffed. “What’s understandable?”
“You’re in denial.”
“Denial? About Zac?” I tried to suck air into my lungs, but it felt like they were trapped on a one-dimensional planet and refused to expand. “Zac didn’t do it,” I said, through gritted teeth.
“Okay, whatever you say.”
We’d abandoned all pretext of bowling, but I still clutched the neon green ball. I ran my hand over the slick cool surface and fought the urge to lift it to my hot cheeks. Or better yet, slam it into Brendan’s smug face. The muscles in my jaw ached. My daily Bible study was from James, and I was trying desperately to control my tongue, but biting it until it bled might be a little extreme. “I think it’s time for us to call it a night.” I put the ball back on the rack beside us.
Brendan pushed to his feet, the look on his face reeking of false concern. “Jenna, honey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but it’s true the family is often the last to know.”
“I guess I’m the last to know a lot of things.” I ground out the words as I changed shoes. When I’d finished, I stood, then leaned toward Brendan and spoke softly for his ears only. “Like the fact that I’d rather spend every Friday night for the rest of my life at home, painting my cat’s toenails, than to go out with you again.”
I didn’t mind the walk home. The night air had never felt so cool and fresh. Some places were stale with bad company.
Six
“Oomph!” Carly grunted. “That ball has it in for me.” Her racket clattered to the hardwood floor. She laughed and sank down beside it. “Forget it, Jen. Racquetball isn’t my game.”
“You don’t know that! You haven’t even given it a chance.” I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms, giving my sister a measured glance. “Besides, it beats staying home and moping.”
Carly rubbed an angry-looking red spot on her leg. “At least staying home wasn’t giving me bruises. Besides, have you ever tried to mope around ten-year-old twins? Let’s call Mama and ask her how much moping she’s getting done tonight.”
“Nice try. Come on. Give it a few more minutes. If you still don’t like it, we’ll change and head to the sauna.”
Carly got to her feet and waved her racket around over her head with a grin. “Boomerang ball? Crazy sister? Sauna at the end? Bring it on.” She resumed the stance I’d shown her—knees slightly bent.
For the next ten minutes, she gave it her all. But when she collapsed to the floor again, gasping for air between her giggles, even I had to admit defeat.
Celebrating the end of the game, Carly did a victory dance into the locker
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