Read Online Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) by E. E. Kennedy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: E. E. Kennedy
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atmosphere
That makes it feel like home . . .
Greenwich Village,
This is where I’ll bring my dream—
“Thank you!” Chris interrupted, “Very nice. Wow!”
The assembly burst into spontaneous applause as Janey bobbed a brief curtsey and moved down the stairs. For a split second I caught a glimpse of her dark, raised eyebrows and a self-satisfied expression on her face.
She knows she’s good, really good. But she’s crazy to put herself forward like that, if she’s supposed to be in hiding.
Chris called for a twenty-minute break. Lily and I stood, but instead of heading out the entrance to the vending machines as usual, Lily began edging her way toward the side entrance.
“Where’re you going?” I whispered. That was sotto voce , I said to myself proudly, remembering another theatre term.
Lily rolled her eyes and tilted her head in the direction of the exit, where Neil Claussen stood waiting for her, cigarette pack and lighter in hand.
I shrugged and went my own way. If she wanted to stand around out there sucking up other people’s cigarette smoke and ruining her singing voice, it was her business. I tried to ignore the pang of envy I felt. All the really cute boys were out there.
There was only one person at the snack machine, a skinny hippie-looking kid sporting a short dark brown pony tail, with his back to me, dropping coins in the slot.
~~~
“Hold it. Skinny? Hippie-looking? Is that how you saw me?” Gil gathered his breakfast dishes and carried them to the sink.
“Well, you were, weren’t you?” I rinsed his juice glass and placed it in the dishwasher.
“I thought I was cool. I was working on a beard and everything.”
His wounded tone would have been more convincing if he hadn’t been trying so hard to keep a straight face.
“As you may remember,” I pointed out, “you weren’t exactly Mr. Charm that day.”
~~~
When his chocolate bar became wedged and refused to dislodge, he began to curse and pound the glass.
“Wait, wait,” I said impulsively, “I think I can help.” I had been in this situation before.
The boy turned around. “What do you mean?”
“Gilly Dickensen! What are you doing here?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the machine. “That’s Gil to my friends and Mr. Dickensen to you, but I might ask you the same question, Prentice,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice. There were a few stray hairs on his chin and upper lip.
I gathered all the dignity I could. “I’m in the play.”
“Well, I’m doing sound for the play,” he answered, mocking my tone. Frowning, he pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs, in the projection booth. But you said you could help me. How?”
I noticed that there was a hole in the knee of his jeans. Was he in style or just short of money?
“Like this. I’ll make my selection.” I deposited my coins and pressed the numbered buttons. “My crackers will knock your candy bar down, see?”
As I explained the trick, my mind was racing. Gilly, that is, Mr. Dickensen was two years ahead of me in school. The boy had definitely changed. The last time I saw him was at a school concert. Then he had short hair and sang alto in the mixed chorus.
I pulled the knob confidently, then a second time. My cheese-and-peanut-butter snack crackers moved forward, then stopped, poised over the precipice.
“Doggone it!”
I struck the glass with my fist. Gil’s candy bar wobbled and fell.
“ Voilà! ”
He hastened to retrieve it. “Thanks, Prentice.” He peeled back the wrapper and took a bite. “Bye.” He turned to leave.
My crackers were still stuck. “Wait! Aren’t you going to—”
“Sorry, too busy.”
Chewing, he loped across the lobby and fled through the door to the upstairs, narrowly missing a hallway collision with Chris Gold, who entered the theatre office.
I struck the glass of the snack machine again, a wasted effort. “I hate that boy!”
I fished in my purse for more coins. My stomach was
That makes it feel like home . . .
Greenwich Village,
This is where I’ll bring my dream—
“Thank you!” Chris interrupted, “Very nice. Wow!”
The assembly burst into spontaneous applause as Janey bobbed a brief curtsey and moved down the stairs. For a split second I caught a glimpse of her dark, raised eyebrows and a self-satisfied expression on her face.
She knows she’s good, really good. But she’s crazy to put herself forward like that, if she’s supposed to be in hiding.
Chris called for a twenty-minute break. Lily and I stood, but instead of heading out the entrance to the vending machines as usual, Lily began edging her way toward the side entrance.
“Where’re you going?” I whispered. That was sotto voce , I said to myself proudly, remembering another theatre term.
Lily rolled her eyes and tilted her head in the direction of the exit, where Neil Claussen stood waiting for her, cigarette pack and lighter in hand.
I shrugged and went my own way. If she wanted to stand around out there sucking up other people’s cigarette smoke and ruining her singing voice, it was her business. I tried to ignore the pang of envy I felt. All the really cute boys were out there.
There was only one person at the snack machine, a skinny hippie-looking kid sporting a short dark brown pony tail, with his back to me, dropping coins in the slot.
~~~
“Hold it. Skinny? Hippie-looking? Is that how you saw me?” Gil gathered his breakfast dishes and carried them to the sink.
“Well, you were, weren’t you?” I rinsed his juice glass and placed it in the dishwasher.
“I thought I was cool. I was working on a beard and everything.”
His wounded tone would have been more convincing if he hadn’t been trying so hard to keep a straight face.
“As you may remember,” I pointed out, “you weren’t exactly Mr. Charm that day.”
~~~
When his chocolate bar became wedged and refused to dislodge, he began to curse and pound the glass.
“Wait, wait,” I said impulsively, “I think I can help.” I had been in this situation before.
The boy turned around. “What do you mean?”
“Gilly Dickensen! What are you doing here?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the machine. “That’s Gil to my friends and Mr. Dickensen to you, but I might ask you the same question, Prentice,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice. There were a few stray hairs on his chin and upper lip.
I gathered all the dignity I could. “I’m in the play.”
“Well, I’m doing sound for the play,” he answered, mocking my tone. Frowning, he pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs, in the projection booth. But you said you could help me. How?”
I noticed that there was a hole in the knee of his jeans. Was he in style or just short of money?
“Like this. I’ll make my selection.” I deposited my coins and pressed the numbered buttons. “My crackers will knock your candy bar down, see?”
As I explained the trick, my mind was racing. Gilly, that is, Mr. Dickensen was two years ahead of me in school. The boy had definitely changed. The last time I saw him was at a school concert. Then he had short hair and sang alto in the mixed chorus.
I pulled the knob confidently, then a second time. My cheese-and-peanut-butter snack crackers moved forward, then stopped, poised over the precipice.
“Doggone it!”
I struck the glass with my fist. Gil’s candy bar wobbled and fell.
“ Voilà! ”
He hastened to retrieve it. “Thanks, Prentice.” He peeled back the wrapper and took a bite. “Bye.” He turned to leave.
My crackers were still stuck. “Wait! Aren’t you going to—”
“Sorry, too busy.”
Chewing, he loped across the lobby and fled through the door to the upstairs, narrowly missing a hallway collision with Chris Gold, who entered the theatre office.
I struck the glass of the snack machine again, a wasted effort. “I hate that boy!”
I fished in my purse for more coins. My stomach was
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