Read Online Florida Knight by Blair Bancroft - Free Book Online Page A

college. Bubba worked construction. Mona lived at home, rode a bicycle to work. Bubba had a motorcycle.”
    Kate took another swallow, choked, coughed, waving Michael away as he came halfway out of his chair. “Sorry,” she gasped. “This isn’t easy. Mostly I try not to think about it. I didn’t know Bubba then, but my imagination tends to works overtime when it comes to people I care about . Anyway . . . not long before I moved to Golden Beach —about seven or eight years ago—Bubba was riding to work one morning when a car pulled out of a driveway straight in front of him. It’s hard to think of anyone Bubba’s size being invisible, but the driver swore he never saw him.” Kate sighed. “Bubba recovered from all his other injuries, but . . . well, he’s never going to be able to hold a regular job again.”
    Like Mark.
    Maybe like Mark. With Mark, there was still hope.
    “I’m sorry, Kate.” The inanity was all Michael could think of. He was sorry for Bubba, for the unknown Mona, for Kate. For so many things.
    “When he came back from rehab, Mona moved in with him. Financially, they’re better off if they don’t get married. Insurance quirks,” Kate added. “So they just keep going, living life as best they can. Any time I feel sorry for myself, I only have to look next door to realize I ought to be counting my blessings.”
    For a few moments silence filled the mobile home. A thought-filled silence, Kate realized, not at all awkward. She got up, took Michael’s empty glass, fixed a refill. She was at the sink when she finally took in Michael’s haggard appearance, the deep lines of exhaustion, and . . . stress? Pain? She should have thought . . . should have known. The billows of black smoke had filled the sky to the east. The newspapers had been full of the story of the crash and burn of the gasoline tanker, the death of the driver, the incredible traffic tie-up to follow.
    As Kate put the fresh drink in his hand, she could see Michael had given in at last. From uptight and belligerent, he had faded to slumped and silent, all the fight gone out of him. “You were involved in that accident, weren’t you?” she asked.
    “Yeah. I’m lead investigator.”
    “Oh, Michael, I’m sorry,” Kate breathed.
    It was probably the only nice thing she’d ever said to him, Michael thought. About time too. “Probable heart attack,” he offered in the clipped tones of a military report. “Driver had an outstanding safety record, just passed a company physical, but he went off a bridge in the midst of a sunny afternoon. Forty-six, wife, two kids. I had to make the call.” Forty-six. Only ten years older than he was. Michael had seen so many bodies, bloody and mangled, talked to so many shocked and stricken relatives, but this one had shaken him. Maybe he was over the hill, burnt out . . .
    “When did you eat last?”
    “What?”
    “Michael . . . when was the last time you had something to eat?”
    “Some nice gray-haired lady stuck a sandwich in my hand about noon. I think. Or maybe that was yesterday.”
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    Frowning, Michael thought about it. “I don’t think so. I recall getting handed endless cups of coffee, a string of sandwiches, but I don’t think I’ve had any food today. Things were calming down a bit, so the volunteers went home to a well-deserved rest. Today , since nobody fed me , I didn’t eat.” About three, I finally went home, checked my messages, showered, changed, and drove over here.”
    “You’re in luck,” Kate declared briskly. “Cooking for one isn’t much fun, so when I do cook, I make enough for leftovers plus the freezer. Tonight it was chili, and there’s enough for an army.”
    Michael leaned back in the platform rocker, closed his eyes. He ought to make some smart-ass remark about Miss Macho cooking for him. Or maybe about sitting in this g.d. lavender chair, but it felt so good. The scotch was cold and smooth, sliding down like manna