Read Online Double Shot by Diane Mott Davidson - Free Book Online

okay?”
“Arch, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but your dad is not okay.” Arch frowned, his eyes fixed on me. “It’s very bad news, I’m afraid, so prepare yourself. Your dad is dead. I think he’s been shot. The police will be here soon.”
“What are you saying, Mom? Dad’s been involved in a shooting? When? Where is he?”
“He’s in the garage. Something went very wrong. That’s why the sheriff’s department is coming.”
“Where’s you cell?” Arch demanded, his voice loud. Denial, denial, of course. “Call an ambulance, they might be able to revive him!”
“Oh, Arch — “
Dust sprayed on the windshield. There was the distant sound of sirens. The sheriff’s department must have had an officer patrolling Aspen Meadow. They’d have radioed and told him to hightail it over here.
“Mom!” Arch yelled, his eyes wild.
It had been a long time since Arch had let me hug him, but he did now. He was trembling violently.
“Mom —“ His voice cracked. “Please!” He wrenched away. “What happened? Why won’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know what happened. If I did, I’d tell you.”
Arch put his head in his hands. He began to sob, wrenching cries that felt as if they were ripping my chest open. After a while, I reached out for him, but his hands batted me away. The tear-stained face he turned to me was filled with rage.
“Tell me what happened, Mom! Who was that guy who was here? Did he shoot Dad?”
“I don’t know! That’s why the police are — “ Mrs. Korman, do you have my money? What kind of money problem had John Richard gotten himself into? Had he plunged himself into a debt jam? One he couldn’t climb out of? My mind wheeled and bumped over the possibilities as Arch continued to cry.
Without warning, the van’s back door rumbled open, starling both of us. Arch used his shirt to wipe his face, then adjusted his glasses.
“It’s me,” Tom’s deep, authoritative voice announce. He climbed in, sat heavily in the rear seat, and wordlessly handed each of us a homemade quilt. These thick handmade creations were for victims and survivors of violent crime, stitched by volunteers in the county. I wrapped myself in mine, a red-and-white beauty with, ironically, a heart motif. Arch let his black-and-gold patterned one fall to the floor.
My cell phone chirped and I picked it up. The caller ID indicated it was Marla. Tom gently removed the phone from my hand and pressed Talk.
“Yeah, Marla. It’s true. Goldy and Arch are right here with me, in the van. Yeah, I sped up to Stoneberry. No, don’t come. I’m telling you, stay away. Keep your cell next to you and we’ll call you back. Yeah, soon.” Then he pressed End.
A sudden rapping on the side window made me jump. It was the same sound the skeleton-faced fellow had made when he’d asked for his money. I wanted to tell Tom about that, but I didn’t want to upset Arch more than he already was.
My son’s face was very pale. He was shivering and biting his bottom lip. I picked up the quilt and tucked it behind his shoulders.
“Schulz,” said a uniformed cop. “They’re asking for you up on the driveway. They want to know your relationship with all this.”
Tom climbed from the van. I watched his commanding swagger as he accompanied the cop up the driveway. Three police cars now ringed the dead end. I turned to my son, who had pulled around the edge of the quilt to cover his face.
“Arch, honey,” I said gently. “what can I do for you? Do you want me to call Todd? See if he can come over here? The cops are going to want to talk to me . . .because I found you dad. They’ll probably talk to you, too. Then I’ll have to go down to the department. When I do, would you like to go over to the Druckmans’? Or do you want to stay with me?” I paused. “I’m willing to have you with me every minute.”
Arch hesitated, then poked his head out of the quilt. He was scowling, trying to keep a lid on his feelings. “I don’t know. All