Read Online Up in Smoke by Charlene Weir - Free Book Online Page A

Eva had promised? Putting on a party smile, Cass squeezed through the people grazing at a dining room table piled with slices of ham and roast beef, fried chicken, cheeses, breads, crackers, salads, sliced fruit, and fancy cakes. Bottles of wine, designer water, and hard liquor sat on a sideboard.
    Bernie materialized at her side and leaned closer to make himself heard. “Gin and tonic? I make a mean gin and tonic.”
    â€œScotch and water. Heavy on the water.”
    Music throbbed a witless atonal noise that made her temples ache. Bernie returned and handed her a squat heavy glass. She took a sip and choked. He’d reversed the proportions. Smiling and murmuring inane replies to inane questions, she was buffeted through the crowd and funneled into the living room.
    â€œBest fuckin’ smoke jumper ever was,” a drunken voice muttered. “Anybody doesn’t agree can tell it to me! Just try! Try! I’d give my life for him! My life!”
    Wakely? His voice startled her. What was he doing here? She’d thought he was pretty much a recluse and seldom left Jackson Garrett’s side. Cass squirmed through groups of people and sat in the chair next to his wheelchair. She was shocked by his appearance. He used to be a huge, robust man with boundless energy and a shy sense of humor, now he seemed just a shell, fragile and hollow. “Hi, Wakely.”
    He jerked back and regarded her with bloodshot eyes. Homely, like an old Irish water spaniel, he had a long friendly face, bristly reddish hair flecked with gray and soft brown eyes. “Well, if it isn’t my old pal Cassie! How you doin’, Cassie? My God, how many years has it been? Must be fifty.” He took a hefty gulp from his glass.
    He was maybe three more swallows from passing out. “Twenty,” she said. The same number since his spine had been crushed and he’d ended up forever in that chair.
    â€œTwenty!” he shouted as though the answer had just popped into his mind. “Seen the governor?”
    Trickles of apprehension crawled along her neck. “He’s here?”
    â€œHas to be. I’m here, aren’t I?” he demanded belligerently. “Go everywhere together. Everywhere. Together. Everywhere together. Best pal. Hero! Fucking hero!” Wakely listed in her direction. “Don’t you say different. Saved my life!” He slammed a fist on the chair arm. “Nothing but a crispy critter wasn’t for Jack Garrett.” Tears filled his bleary eyes and ran unchecked down his face.
    â€œI know, Wakely.”
    His right hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His legs, flaccid in the chair were wasted and useless, but his upper body was thick and muscled and his hand clamped her wrist like a vise. “Wanted to talk.”
    No one can talk with a drunk.
    â€œDeath fires.”
    She tried to pull her arm away, but he held her anchored in place. “Excuse me, Wakely, Bernie is waiting—”
    â€œKilled her.” He leaned so far toward her she was afraid he’d fall out of the wheelchair.
    â€œWho?” She drew back from his stale alcohol-smelling breath.
    â€œDead. Gone.”
    â€œTime to go, pal?” A blond young man, muscles brimming with fine-toned health, like an expensive trainer from an upscale gym, grabbed the chair and pushed Wakely through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea.
    Cass followed in his wake, looking for Eva and finally finding her in the family room, refilling bowls of chips. “Have you seen Bernie?” Cass asked. “I’m really beat. I need to get home before I collapse.”
    Eva looked around vaguely. “He’s here somewhere. Are you okay? You don’t hate me, do you?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œJack. Isn’t that why you’re leaving? I know I should have told you but I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew.”
    Silence slammed into Cass’s mind.
    Eva