Read Online There's Nothing to Be Afraid Of by Marcia Muller - Free Book Online

out of a sense of guilt.
    Both sides of the narrow street were lined with cards, parked bumper to bumper, and Don’s antique gold Jaguar was in my driveway. I pulled in parallel, blocking him, and looked around for Barry’s truck. It wasn’t in sight—a sign I wasn’t sure how to interpret. I grabbed the grocery bag, hurried up the front steps, and stood on the porch, fumbling with my keys. Once inside, I tripped over my cat, Watney, who ran to greet me; I went back toward the kitchen, scolding him. Don was at the table, drinking red wine and reading the evening paper.
    Don is big man, stocky, with a graceful bearing that one normally doesn’t expect in someone his size. When I came in he stood up, his mouth curving beneath his shaggy black mustache, and planted a kiss on my cheek. I put the grocery bag down on the counter and said, “Okay, where is he?”
    “What a greeting.” Don went back to the table and poured me a glass of wine.
    Warily I took it from his outstretched hand. “If you’re giving me this before I’ve taken off my coat, it means trouble. Barry tried to reach me at work, but when I called back the line was busy. I take it you saw him.”
    “Yes. He’ll be back.”
    I glanced suspiciously at the hallway between the kitchen and the back porch. The bathroom opened off it, and I could see a shaft of light shining through the door. “Back from where?”
    “Why don’t you sit down and relax.”
    “Uh-oh.” But I took off my coat and sat, propping my feet on one of the other chairs. “All right, where did he go?”
    Don was beginning to smile again. “To borrow some surgical tools.”
    I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it. “What on earth does he need surgical tools for?”
    “Well, as he explained it, he spilled a box of nails, and the bloody things ran down the bloody shower drain like a wombat into a burrow.”
    I smiled faintly. “So there are nails down the shower drain. That still doesn’t explain the need for surgical tools.”
    “Barry can’t reach the nails with any of his own implements, and they’re blocking the drain. So he spent the afternoon calling around and finally located an intern friend who would loan him—”
    “Oh, Lord! He’s going to fish the nails out of the drain with the instruments this doctor operates with?”
    “Well, I gather he’s only an intern. They probably haven’t seen much service.”
    “Oh, Lord! Remind me to get his name and never to go to him if I have to be under the knife.”
    Don and I looked at each other, and then we both started to laugh. It quickly turned into one of our shared fits, where we got started and couldn’t stop until we were red-faced, teary-eyed, and weak around our midsections. As luck would have it, Barry chose to enter in the middle of it, carrying a black medical bag. We looked at the bag, exchanged glances, and lost control all over again. Barry gave us a baleful look and continued on to the bathroom. In a bit we heard delicate rattling noises as he plumbed the pipes with forceps.
    I put my finger to my lips and said, “Sssh! We’ve hurt his feelings.”
    Don rolled his eyes, clasped his hand over his mouth, and tried unsuccessfully to muffle his laughter. It was several minutes before I was calm enough to get up and start making the burgers. Contritely, I made two extra, in case Barry was hungry, and cut generous slices of cheese to go on top.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN

    By ten-thirty the Tenderloin had donned a tattered neon disguise. The lights of the bars and porno theatres and cheap hotels bathed the area in red and gold, pink and green, masking the worst of its squalor. But underneath the garish trappings, one could easily see the refuse and decay, and the alleys where danger waited.
    I parked my car in a guarded lot Carolyn had recommended and walked toward the Globe Hotel, my senses warily alert to the activity that ebbed and flowed around me. Hard-faced women—some dressed