Cheated By Death by L.L. Bartlett Read Free Book Online Page A

so. I live at—”
    “Oh, I know the place. Dad’s been driving
past and swearing at it for years.”
    I didn’t like the sound of that. Had he cased
the house years before with the crazy idea of kidnapping
Richard?
    “I live in the apartment over the garage.
There’s an entryway on the left side. Just ring the bell.”
    “I’m sure I’ll find it. This is terrific! I
can’t wait to meet you.”
    “Me, too,” I said without enthusiasm.
    “Well, see you tomorrow, brother.”
    “Bye.” I hung up.
    Brother.
    I wandered back to the bar in a kind of
uneasy fog, and automatically started washing the glasses piled by
the sink.
    “That didn’t sound like Maggie,” Tom
said.
    “It wasn’t.”
    “Hmm, inviting a lady over to your
apartment?” Something in his tone made me feel sleazy.
    “She’s my sister.”
    “I didn’t know you had one.”
    “Until yesterday, neither did I.”

    I didn’t have to tend bar again until
Friday. Since Brenda went to the clinic with Richard, I wasn’t on
call to take her to work. I planned to spend the morning with Sam
Nielsen interviewing the protesters in Williamsville. It gave me
something to do besides wait for Patty’s visit later that day.
    Sam met me in the parking lot of a coffee
shop a block from the Women’s Health Center. We bought coffee to go
and started walking. The brisk wind was at our backs and we talked
as we went.
    “I called Bob Linden’s office. He’s expecting
us,” Sam said.
    “Why?”
    “Showing up unannounced looks sinister. Like
everyone in the movement, he’s suspicious of the liberal
media .”
    “You don’t look like a bleeding heart
scumbag,” I said.
    “I work incognito.”
    I told him about Brenda’s confrontation with
the Reverend.
    “Better let me do all the talking,” he said.
He got no argument from me.
    Sure enough, Linden was on the lookout for
us. Standing a head taller than most of his followers, he looked
pretty much the same as when I’d photographed him; well-dressed,
respectable—and definitely in charge. The hard glint in his gaze
conveyed his stance as a man of uncompromising beliefs—yet my
pictures hadn’t captured the depth of his commanding presence.
    Though several inches shorter than Linden,
Sam met his intimidating gaze. He introduced us while I removed the
camera’s lens cap and snapped a few shots.
    Linden listened to Sam, but scrutinized my
face. “You walk the black nurse in a couple times a week.”
    I put the camera down. “So?”
    “Why are you taking pictures of us?”
someone else challenged.
    “That’s his job, and I’m here to listen to
your stories,” Sam chimed in.
    “Why? So you can brand us as fundamentalist
Christian jerks,” another man said.
    “No—to understand why you’re so passionate
about your cause,” Sam said.
    I let Sam take the brunt of their hostility.
With notebook and pen in hand, I moved through the crowd to take
down the names of people I’d already photographed. Picking the
friendliest looking one, I approached the young woman dressed in a
baggy green parka. Shoulder-length blonde hair framed her
heart-shaped face under a white knit cap. She hefted a sign in one
hand, clutched a little girl’s mittened-hand in the other.
    “I took your picture the other day, Miss. Can
I have your name for the newspaper?”
    She studied me for a moment before answering.
“Emily Farrell.” She spelled it for me.
    “How often do you come down here to
protest?”
    “Twice a week.”
    “And who’s this?” I asked the little girl.
She clung to her mother’s hand, and gazed at me through lowered
lashes.
    “Hannah’s four. Why do you escort that
nurse?”
    “Because she’s afraid of you.”
    “If she didn’t kill babies, she wouldn’t have
to be afraid.”
    “She doesn’t kill babies. She helps women
with health problems.”
    “Being pregnant isn’t a problem.”
    “For some women it is.”
    A frown crossed her features.
    I didn’t like being despised for