Read Online Watch Them Die by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online
Authors: Kevin O'Brien
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He was on his break. Hannah closed the door. “I want to kill her,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well, get in line,” Scott replied. He folded back the newspaper page. “I thought you’d want to see this. Did you know about it?”
“About what?” Hannah asked, taking the newspaper from him. She glanced at the headline near the bottom of the local news page, and read it aloud: “‘SEATTLE WOMAN PLUNGES FIVE STORIES TO HER DEATH.’”
“Keep reading,” Scott said.
“‘Authorities are investigating the circumstances behind the death of a Seattle woman, Cindy Finkelston, 34, who fell from her fifth-floor living-room window at the Broadmoore apartment building on Sunday morning….’”
“There is no ‘H’ in Finkelston,” Scott said. “Remember her from the other day? Miss I’ll-take-legal-action? Looks like she took a half gainer instead.”
“My God,” Hannah whispered, stunned. “How weird. I—I don’t know how to react.”
“Well, please don’t act sad, or I’ll throw up,” Scott said.
Hannah frowned at him.
“Call me a coldhearted SOB, but she was kind of a jerk. Remember how she treated you?”
Hannah anxiously scanned the article. “They don’t say if it was suicide or not.”
Scott leaned back in the chair. “No, they don’t give you much to go on. You look pale. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know about this,” Hannah murmured. “There’s something wrong. I have the strangest feeling—”
A knock on the door interrupted her. “I need help up front!” Cheryl called in a shrill voice.
“That’s really bizarre,” Hannah said, stealing one last glance at the article. She sighed, gave him back the newspaper, then reached for the doorknob. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I still have ten minutes left on my break.”
Hannah emerged from the back room to find about a dozen customers waiting for service. A couple of men were arguing who had been in line first, while another woman moved up to the counter, asking loudly if there was a section for the Beatles.
“I can help whoever is next,” Hannah announced, stepping up to her register. “The Beatles are on the top shelf in the far-right corner of the store.”
Three other people started yelling questions at her—all at once. Hannah weathered the onslaught of customers. In about five minutes, the line had dwindled down to one person: a very handsome black man in his early thirties. He set his video on the counter and smiled at Hannah. “I was watching you,” he said. “You got through that rush pretty well. Talk about grace under fire.”
“Thanks,” Hannah said. “I juggle, too. Can I have your name, please?”
“I just opened up an account here yesterday,” he said. “Tollman is the last name. Craig.”
With his chiseled features, Tollman, Craig looked like a model out of GQ . Tall, broad-shouldered, and wiry, he wore his hair so short he was nearly bald. He wore a deep blue shirt, tie, and black pants.
Hannah pulled up his account, then punched in the code for his video.
“I just moved up here from Phoenix last week,” he said, taking out his money. “Maybe you can help me. Could you recommend a nice restaurant around here?”
Shrugging, Hannah gave him his change. “I don’t get out much, but I know the Pink Door is nice.”
“Well, would you care to go with me sometime?” he asked. “For dinner?”
“You mean, like on a date?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I’d like to treat you to dinner.”
Hannah felt herself blushing. “Oh, well, thank you.” She glanced down at the counter. “But I’m afraid I can’t.”
“We can make it for lunch—if dinner’s too much too soon. Or if you’re totally date-a-phobic, I’d love to meet you for coffee sometime.”
Hannah shoved his video in a bag. Her face still felt hot. She managed to smile at him. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I’m very flattered, but no.”
“Maybe some other time?”
She shrugged. “I can’t make any
“Yeah, well, get in line,” Scott replied. He folded back the newspaper page. “I thought you’d want to see this. Did you know about it?”
“About what?” Hannah asked, taking the newspaper from him. She glanced at the headline near the bottom of the local news page, and read it aloud: “‘SEATTLE WOMAN PLUNGES FIVE STORIES TO HER DEATH.’”
“Keep reading,” Scott said.
“‘Authorities are investigating the circumstances behind the death of a Seattle woman, Cindy Finkelston, 34, who fell from her fifth-floor living-room window at the Broadmoore apartment building on Sunday morning….’”
“There is no ‘H’ in Finkelston,” Scott said. “Remember her from the other day? Miss I’ll-take-legal-action? Looks like she took a half gainer instead.”
“My God,” Hannah whispered, stunned. “How weird. I—I don’t know how to react.”
“Well, please don’t act sad, or I’ll throw up,” Scott said.
Hannah frowned at him.
“Call me a coldhearted SOB, but she was kind of a jerk. Remember how she treated you?”
Hannah anxiously scanned the article. “They don’t say if it was suicide or not.”
Scott leaned back in the chair. “No, they don’t give you much to go on. You look pale. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know about this,” Hannah murmured. “There’s something wrong. I have the strangest feeling—”
A knock on the door interrupted her. “I need help up front!” Cheryl called in a shrill voice.
“That’s really bizarre,” Hannah said, stealing one last glance at the article. She sighed, gave him back the newspaper, then reached for the doorknob. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I still have ten minutes left on my break.”
Hannah emerged from the back room to find about a dozen customers waiting for service. A couple of men were arguing who had been in line first, while another woman moved up to the counter, asking loudly if there was a section for the Beatles.
“I can help whoever is next,” Hannah announced, stepping up to her register. “The Beatles are on the top shelf in the far-right corner of the store.”
Three other people started yelling questions at her—all at once. Hannah weathered the onslaught of customers. In about five minutes, the line had dwindled down to one person: a very handsome black man in his early thirties. He set his video on the counter and smiled at Hannah. “I was watching you,” he said. “You got through that rush pretty well. Talk about grace under fire.”
“Thanks,” Hannah said. “I juggle, too. Can I have your name, please?”
“I just opened up an account here yesterday,” he said. “Tollman is the last name. Craig.”
With his chiseled features, Tollman, Craig looked like a model out of GQ . Tall, broad-shouldered, and wiry, he wore his hair so short he was nearly bald. He wore a deep blue shirt, tie, and black pants.
Hannah pulled up his account, then punched in the code for his video.
“I just moved up here from Phoenix last week,” he said, taking out his money. “Maybe you can help me. Could you recommend a nice restaurant around here?”
Shrugging, Hannah gave him his change. “I don’t get out much, but I know the Pink Door is nice.”
“Well, would you care to go with me sometime?” he asked. “For dinner?”
“You mean, like on a date?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I’d like to treat you to dinner.”
Hannah felt herself blushing. “Oh, well, thank you.” She glanced down at the counter. “But I’m afraid I can’t.”
“We can make it for lunch—if dinner’s too much too soon. Or if you’re totally date-a-phobic, I’d love to meet you for coffee sometime.”
Hannah shoved his video in a bag. Her face still felt hot. She managed to smile at him. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I’m very flattered, but no.”
“Maybe some other time?”
She shrugged. “I can’t make any
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