Read Online Martin Misunderstood by Karin Slaughter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karin Slaughter
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headed into the
kitchen. 'I wonder if that could be part of your
defense.'
Martin opened his eyes. His job! His livelihood!
His co-workers were the only friends he
had. What would he do without this social
outlet? Where would he go for the camaraderie,
the connection to the outside world? He studied
himself in the hall mirror. The hardness in his
eyes was new. Was this the man that An had
seen, this alternative Martin who viewed the
world as a desperate and dastardly place?
Evie tossed the keys at Martin. He tried to
catch them as they bounced off his face. 'Fill it up
with gas before you bring it back.'
Martin leaned down to pick up the keys. 'It
should have a full tank.'
'I had to get some things at the store. I'm an
old woman with a fucking criminal for a son.
Who knew how long you'd be in the pokey?'
Martin tried not to think about his mother
driving. Her cataracts had robbed her of all
peripheral vision. She had side-swiped the
mailbox last week with the riding lawnmower.
He glanced at his watch. Southern Toilet
Supply would be closed by now. 'I'm going to
work to clean out my desk,' he told her, sadness
enveloping him. How could he be fired? Why
would Norton Shaw do this to him? Martin had
not been convicted of a crime. He liked Sandy.
Why on earth would he kill her? How on earth
could he kill her? He didn't even like killing
insects.
Evie narrowed her eyes at him. 'If you were
really innocent, you'd threaten Southern with a
lawsuit for firing you without cause.'
'I am innocent!' he screamed. 'Mother, you
know I was home last night.'
She gave her Cheshire Cat grin. They both knew that this was
not entirely the truth.
It seemed fitting that Martin drove his mother's
car to Southern Toilet Supply. He felt as if he was
living inside a Janet Evanovich novel, so it was
only natural that, like Stephanie Plum, he was
stuck behind the wheel of an elderly relative's
powder blue Cadillac. This was no farcical
murder mystery, though. This was real life. As if
to put a fine point on it, Martin slowed the car at
the sight of the police tape marking the scene of
Sandy's death.
Poor Sandy. Poor broken Sandy. Sure, she had
teased him, but that didn't mean that she
deserved to die. Even Evie had said as much.
'What a corker!' she had exclaimed when Martin
told her about the fiasco with the glued sex
instrument. (Evie had asked about the piece of
rubber that the GlooperGone had mysteriously
melted into his thumb. Even two weeks later, the
faded purple line was still there.)
The car behind him beeped its horn and
Martin pressed the accelerator, pulling away
from the scene of the crime. He still kept the
speedometer well under the limit as he drove to
Southern, mindful that An had warned him to
keep his nose clean. He thought the warning was
very kind of her, but then An seemed like a kind
person. He still could not get over the caring
look she had given him in the interrogation
room just before she'd jumped out of her chair
to get away from the splatter of vomit that
flooded the table. He hoped that she had copies
of those photos he'd ruined. She would need
them for her case.
The car behind him swerved into the oncoming
lane of traffic, horn blaring as it darted in front
of the Cadillac.
'Oh, dear,' Martin muttered, jerking the
steering wheel, trying to get out of the way. The
wheels bumped on to the shoulder of the road
and he turned sharply into the parking lot of a
strip mall, hands gripping the wheel, foot
slamming on to the brake. The car shuddered to
a stop. Martin looked up in time to see a neon
sign blinking to life in the afternoon dusk.
Madam Glitter's. If Martin were really in a
novel, this would be a prime example of
foreshadowing. Or was it aftershadowing?
Because, in fact, the thing had already happened.
The truth was that Martin had, in fact, taken
his mother to get her trowel from the Peony
Club's storage facility, which was directly across
the street from the strip mall wherein Madam
Glitter's was
kitchen. 'I wonder if that could be part of your
defense.'
Martin opened his eyes. His job! His livelihood!
His co-workers were the only friends he
had. What would he do without this social
outlet? Where would he go for the camaraderie,
the connection to the outside world? He studied
himself in the hall mirror. The hardness in his
eyes was new. Was this the man that An had
seen, this alternative Martin who viewed the
world as a desperate and dastardly place?
Evie tossed the keys at Martin. He tried to
catch them as they bounced off his face. 'Fill it up
with gas before you bring it back.'
Martin leaned down to pick up the keys. 'It
should have a full tank.'
'I had to get some things at the store. I'm an
old woman with a fucking criminal for a son.
Who knew how long you'd be in the pokey?'
Martin tried not to think about his mother
driving. Her cataracts had robbed her of all
peripheral vision. She had side-swiped the
mailbox last week with the riding lawnmower.
He glanced at his watch. Southern Toilet
Supply would be closed by now. 'I'm going to
work to clean out my desk,' he told her, sadness
enveloping him. How could he be fired? Why
would Norton Shaw do this to him? Martin had
not been convicted of a crime. He liked Sandy.
Why on earth would he kill her? How on earth
could he kill her? He didn't even like killing
insects.
Evie narrowed her eyes at him. 'If you were
really innocent, you'd threaten Southern with a
lawsuit for firing you without cause.'
'I am innocent!' he screamed. 'Mother, you
know I was home last night.'
She gave her Cheshire Cat grin. They both knew that this was
not entirely the truth.
It seemed fitting that Martin drove his mother's
car to Southern Toilet Supply. He felt as if he was
living inside a Janet Evanovich novel, so it was
only natural that, like Stephanie Plum, he was
stuck behind the wheel of an elderly relative's
powder blue Cadillac. This was no farcical
murder mystery, though. This was real life. As if
to put a fine point on it, Martin slowed the car at
the sight of the police tape marking the scene of
Sandy's death.
Poor Sandy. Poor broken Sandy. Sure, she had
teased him, but that didn't mean that she
deserved to die. Even Evie had said as much.
'What a corker!' she had exclaimed when Martin
told her about the fiasco with the glued sex
instrument. (Evie had asked about the piece of
rubber that the GlooperGone had mysteriously
melted into his thumb. Even two weeks later, the
faded purple line was still there.)
The car behind him beeped its horn and
Martin pressed the accelerator, pulling away
from the scene of the crime. He still kept the
speedometer well under the limit as he drove to
Southern, mindful that An had warned him to
keep his nose clean. He thought the warning was
very kind of her, but then An seemed like a kind
person. He still could not get over the caring
look she had given him in the interrogation
room just before she'd jumped out of her chair
to get away from the splatter of vomit that
flooded the table. He hoped that she had copies
of those photos he'd ruined. She would need
them for her case.
The car behind him swerved into the oncoming
lane of traffic, horn blaring as it darted in front
of the Cadillac.
'Oh, dear,' Martin muttered, jerking the
steering wheel, trying to get out of the way. The
wheels bumped on to the shoulder of the road
and he turned sharply into the parking lot of a
strip mall, hands gripping the wheel, foot
slamming on to the brake. The car shuddered to
a stop. Martin looked up in time to see a neon
sign blinking to life in the afternoon dusk.
Madam Glitter's. If Martin were really in a
novel, this would be a prime example of
foreshadowing. Or was it aftershadowing?
Because, in fact, the thing had already happened.
The truth was that Martin had, in fact, taken
his mother to get her trowel from the Peony
Club's storage facility, which was directly across
the street from the strip mall wherein Madam
Glitter's was
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