A Rendezvous to Die For by Betty McMahon Read Free Book Online Page A

yourself against these playground Nazis.”
    The very next day, I
put her first lesson to the test. “Hey, look, it’s old sourpuss,”
Tommy the Tormentor taunted, approaching me on the playground with
two other boys in tow. “Hey, sourpuss, ain’tcha ever gonna
smile!”
    Feeling more
confident in my newly purchased Levi’s and Lacrosse shirt, I sucked
in a deep breath, lifted my head, and spit out what I’d rehearsed
in front of my mirror. “I don’t know what makes you so stupid,
Tommy, but it really works!” The little bully opened his mouth to
retort, but before he could say anything more, I straightened up and
delivered the junior high equivalent of a coup de grace. “You’ve got the personality of a bowling ball!”
    It wasn’t a David Letterman
comeback, but I had learned the power of verbal bravado, thanks to
Mrs. A. I have never forgotten her words of wisdom. “All you have
to do is utter courageous words, Cassandra. The courage itself will
follow.”
    My smart mouth put
enough starch in my backbone to get me through the rest of my
childhood and teenage traumas and, by adulthood, I was as well
adjusted as the next person. Feeling the presence of Mrs. A and
hearing her guidance was as effective as any session with a
$200-an-hour psychiatrist. The only time a crack appeared in my
carefully constructed identity was when stress reared its ugly head
as the result of a conflict I was powerless to resolve.
    That was the kind of stress I was
experiencing right now, in Colton Mills, Minnesota. It wasn’t that
I didn’t have confidence in my attorney. I was simply accustomed to
taking matters into my own hands. For some reason, I felt deep in my
bones that Sheriff Shaw would rather make me the hatchet murderer
than spend time searching for another possible suspect. I sensed he’d
stay on me like Velcro on wool. Circumstantial evidence is a powerful
convincer. I was the only one who knew for certain that I wasn’t
the bad guy. Even though it required skills that weren’t on my
résumé, I knew I’d have to play amateur detective. The best place
to start my investigation was with Marty.
    That
was easier said than done. I had paid no attention to Marty’s
comings and goings. I hadn’t even seen him, from the time I moved
into the carriage house until our paths crossed at the Rendezvous. On
a normal day, I spent half my working time keeping appointments and
the other half in my office or darkroom. The activities of my
landlord never came to mind.
    I examined the quality of the photographs I had been laboring over
and dumped them all into the trashcan. Trying to work, while worrying
about my future, had been a total waste of time and energy. It was a
good thing Heather was still on her honeymoon and wasn’t expecting
finished prints anytime soon. As I exited the darkroom, I snapped off
the red ceiling light and slammed the door behind me, thinking I
should become a reenactor myself and specialize in ‘hawk throwing.
The skill might come in handy.

    Chapter
6

    Tuesday
Evening
    Since it was still early, I
decided to make use of the evening to fulfill another commitment. My
next wedding gig was to take place at Patriot Stables, and I needed
to check the layout. It would be fun to be around horses again. They
liked me and didn’t talk back.
    By the time I reached the
stables, it was after seven in the evening. I strolled through the
barn, clipboard in hand, as I scouted places to effectively pose the
bridal party. I took my time, stopping now and then to inhale the
fragrant aroma of hay and listen to the comforting sounds of horses
placidly munching their evening meal. The peaceful ambiance took me
back to the Evening Star Stables in southwest Minnesota, where I had
first started my love for all things “horse” by mucking stalls at
the age of seventeen. By the time I was eighteen, I was exercising
the horses and, eventually, halter-training the owners’ colts.
Those hours in the stable brought a little