Read Online Three Classic Thrillers by John Grisham - Free Book Online
Authors: John Grisham
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black man with a red apron stood before them. “Okay, sir,” he demanded.
The menus were mats on the tables, and completely unnecessary. Ribs, ribs and ribs.
“Two whole orders, cheese plate, pitcher of beer,” Mitch shot back at him. The waiter wrote nothing, but turned and screamed in the direction of the entrance: “Gimme two whole, cheese, pitcher!”
When he left, Mitch grabbed her leg under the table. She slapped his hand.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “When was the last time I told you that you are beautiful?”
“About two hours ago.”
“Two hours! How thoughtless of me!”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
He grabbed her leg again and rubbed the knee. She allowed it. She smiled seductively at him, dimples forming perfectly, teeth shining in the dim light, softpale brown eyes glowing. Her dark brunet hair was straight and fell perfectly a few inches below her shoulders.
The beer arrived and the waiter filled two mugs without saying a word. Abby took a small drink and stopped smiling.
“Do you think Lamar’s okay?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I thought at first he was drunk. I felt like an idiot sitting there watching him get soaked.”
“Poor guy. Kay said the funerals will probably be Monday, if they can get the bodies back in time.”
“Let’s talk about something else. I don’t like funerals, any funeral, even when I’m there out of respect and don’t know the deceased. I’ve had some bad experiences with funerals.”
The ribs arrived. They were served on paper plates with aluminum foil to catch the grease. A small dish of slaw and one of baked beans sat around a foot-long slab of dry ribs sprinkled heavily with the secret sauce. They dug in with fingers.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked.
“Getting pregnant.”
“I thought we were going to wait a few years.”
“We are. But I think we should practice diligently until then.”
“We’ve practiced in every roadside motel between here and Boston.”
“I know, but not in our new home.” Mitch ripped two ribs apart, slinging sauce into his eyebrows.
“We just moved in this morning.”
“I know. What’re we waiting for?”
“Mitch, you act as though you’ve been neglected.”
“I have, since this morning. I suggest we do it tonight, as soon as we get home, to sort of christen our new house.”
“We’ll see.”
“Is it a date? Look, did you see that guy over there? He’s about to break his neck trying to see some leg. I oughta go over and whip his ass.”
“Yes. It’s a date. Don’t worry about those guys. They’re staring at you. They think you’re cute.”
“Very funny.”
Mitch stripped his ribs clean and ate half of hers. When the beer was gone, he paid the check and they climbed into the alley. He drove carefully across town and found the name of a street he recognized from one of his many road trips of the day. After two wrong turns, he found Meadowbrook, and then the home of Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell Y. McDeere.
The mattress and box springs were stacked on the floor of the master bedroom, surrounded by boxes. Hearsay hid under a lamp on the floor and watched as they practiced.
Four days later, on what should have been his first day behind his new desk, Mitch and his lovely wife joined the remaining thirty-nine members of the firm, and their lovely wives, as they paid their last respects to Martin S. Kozinski. The cathedral was full. Oliver Lambert offered a eulogy so eloquent and touching not even Mitchell McDeere, who had buried a father and a brother, could resist chill bumps. Abby’s eyes watered at the sight of the widow and the children.
That afternoon, they met again in the Presbyterian church in East Memphis to say farewell to Joseph M. Hodge.
5
T he small lobby outside Royce McKnight’s office was empty when Mitch arrived precisely at eight-thirty, on schedule. He hummed and coughed and began to wait anxiously. From behind two file cabinets an
The menus were mats on the tables, and completely unnecessary. Ribs, ribs and ribs.
“Two whole orders, cheese plate, pitcher of beer,” Mitch shot back at him. The waiter wrote nothing, but turned and screamed in the direction of the entrance: “Gimme two whole, cheese, pitcher!”
When he left, Mitch grabbed her leg under the table. She slapped his hand.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “When was the last time I told you that you are beautiful?”
“About two hours ago.”
“Two hours! How thoughtless of me!”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
He grabbed her leg again and rubbed the knee. She allowed it. She smiled seductively at him, dimples forming perfectly, teeth shining in the dim light, softpale brown eyes glowing. Her dark brunet hair was straight and fell perfectly a few inches below her shoulders.
The beer arrived and the waiter filled two mugs without saying a word. Abby took a small drink and stopped smiling.
“Do you think Lamar’s okay?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I thought at first he was drunk. I felt like an idiot sitting there watching him get soaked.”
“Poor guy. Kay said the funerals will probably be Monday, if they can get the bodies back in time.”
“Let’s talk about something else. I don’t like funerals, any funeral, even when I’m there out of respect and don’t know the deceased. I’ve had some bad experiences with funerals.”
The ribs arrived. They were served on paper plates with aluminum foil to catch the grease. A small dish of slaw and one of baked beans sat around a foot-long slab of dry ribs sprinkled heavily with the secret sauce. They dug in with fingers.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked.
“Getting pregnant.”
“I thought we were going to wait a few years.”
“We are. But I think we should practice diligently until then.”
“We’ve practiced in every roadside motel between here and Boston.”
“I know, but not in our new home.” Mitch ripped two ribs apart, slinging sauce into his eyebrows.
“We just moved in this morning.”
“I know. What’re we waiting for?”
“Mitch, you act as though you’ve been neglected.”
“I have, since this morning. I suggest we do it tonight, as soon as we get home, to sort of christen our new house.”
“We’ll see.”
“Is it a date? Look, did you see that guy over there? He’s about to break his neck trying to see some leg. I oughta go over and whip his ass.”
“Yes. It’s a date. Don’t worry about those guys. They’re staring at you. They think you’re cute.”
“Very funny.”
Mitch stripped his ribs clean and ate half of hers. When the beer was gone, he paid the check and they climbed into the alley. He drove carefully across town and found the name of a street he recognized from one of his many road trips of the day. After two wrong turns, he found Meadowbrook, and then the home of Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell Y. McDeere.
The mattress and box springs were stacked on the floor of the master bedroom, surrounded by boxes. Hearsay hid under a lamp on the floor and watched as they practiced.
Four days later, on what should have been his first day behind his new desk, Mitch and his lovely wife joined the remaining thirty-nine members of the firm, and their lovely wives, as they paid their last respects to Martin S. Kozinski. The cathedral was full. Oliver Lambert offered a eulogy so eloquent and touching not even Mitchell McDeere, who had buried a father and a brother, could resist chill bumps. Abby’s eyes watered at the sight of the widow and the children.
That afternoon, they met again in the Presbyterian church in East Memphis to say farewell to Joseph M. Hodge.
5
T he small lobby outside Royce McKnight’s office was empty when Mitch arrived precisely at eight-thirty, on schedule. He hummed and coughed and began to wait anxiously. From behind two file cabinets an
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