Read Online Death Takes a Honeymoon by DEBORAH DONNELLY - Free Book Online

the bar and raised a mug, which trembled enough to slop beer down her arm.
    “Todd Gibson,” the Tyke declared, in a low but somehow girlish voice, “your best talent is... Shut up, you bastards! Todd, your best talent is . . . one-armed push-ups! Gimme ten!”
    I couldn’t do ten push-ups if I had three arms. But Todd Gibson just beamed all over his big, square, heavy-boned face. He was young, early twenties at most, and would have made a stereotypical farm boy if he’d had jug-handle ears to go with his lantern jaw. Instead his ears were small and delicate, and just now they were glowing cherry red, though with exertion or embarrassment I couldn’t tell.
    In either case, he dropped promptly to the floor and carried out his sentence, to the roaring approval of the onlookers counting him down.
    “
Seven.
Come on, bro, you can do it!”
    “
Eight.
Right on, Toddy!”
    “Nine!”
    “Ten!”
    As Todd scrambled to his feet, Jack moved away from me to join his comrades in the last act of the Show: spraying beer over winner and loser alike. The Tyke shrieked and fired back at them, while Todd stood unmoving, exhausted but pleased, like a little boy who’s finally been allowed to play with the big kids. I wondered if the beer shower was the usual Talent Show finale or something special for tonight, to take the edge off everyone’s nerves.
    I leaned down to B.J. “What happens if she loses?”
    “She almost never does. She’s strong as hell and she knows just how to brace herself on the bar. But if she does lose, that’s the joke. Everybody tells the winner that the Tyke’s best talent is arm wrestling, and she already did it. Then they all drink some more.”
    I chuckled. “Work hard, play hard?”
    “You got it. Say, Muffy...” B.J. bit her lip. “Did I embarrass you with that crack about hitting on the groom? I mean, is it bothering you to see Jack after all this time?”
    “Not at all,” I said firmly. “Ancient history. But you look a little strung out. Maybe we should go home?”
    “No way!” She turned in a slow, wobbly circle to survey the crowd. “You hardly ever come to Ketchum; you’ve got to meet all these terrific people. Hey, Tyke, meet a friend of mine!”
    She grabbed the younger woman by the elbow—they were almost the same height—and tugged her away from the melee. The smoke jumper frowned at first, but shook hands like a gentleman.
    “Pari Noskin Taichert,” she announced. “And you are?”
    “Carnegie...Kincaid,” I replied, leaving out the Bernice. Her hand was wet with beer.
    “You’re Thiel’s cousin,” she said gruffly. “Sorry.”
    “We weren’t close,” I said again. “Actually, I’m an old friend of B.J.’s. We used to work together in Sun Valley, along with Tracy Kane.”
    “Oh. The actress.” From her tone, she intended the word “actress” to mean “despicable civilian who’s making Jack Packard give up his job.”
    The crowd was shoulder-to-shoulder by now, and a couple of guys cut between us on their way to the bar. When they’d passed, the Tyke was already turning away.
    “Am I imagining things,” I asked B.J., “or does she hate Tracy’s guts?”
    B.J. laughed gleefully at that, too loud and too long, drunk on emotion as much as on beer.
    “I think the Tyke used to have an eye on Jack herself,” she said slyly. Or rather, she shouted. The noise level had risen to a dense, hammering clamor you could almost see in the air. “Maybe more than her eye, you know?”
    “Interesting!” I shouted back.
This used to be so much fun,
I thought, my head throbbing and my throat raw.
Drink way
too much, yell all evening, get up early for work, and then do it all
over again. Was it really that much fun?
    But I was hot and thirsty, the beer was cold, and eventually the alcohol worked its tingling, numbing voodoo, even on me. The blur of voices and faces grew friendlier and more familiar, until I found myself wanting to stay all night in that golden