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

helping my
sister-in-law. “Look, I’m not here to debate the issue. Just to
take pictures for the newspaper.” I noticed she wore no wedding
band. Maybe I could use that.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, softening my voice.
“Would you like a copy of the picture?”
    She brightened, suddenly looking all of
seventeen. “Really?”
    “Sure. I’ll bring it next time I come.”
    I should’ve just gone on to the next person,
instead I pushed my advantage. “My name’s Jeff Resnick.”
    “Hi,” she said, and smiled shyly. “You really
think they’ll use my picture in the paper?”
    “Maybe—maybe not. They’ll probably use one,
maybe a couple of shots for the article—if it makes it to the
Sunday paper.”
    She kept looking at me, an innocent smile
playing at her lips. She looked back to the health center. “Is that
nurse your girlfriend or something?”
    “Just a friend.” Emily didn’t realize the
opening she’d given me—one I took full advantage of. “How about
you? Are you married?”
    She shook her head.
    “Dating?”
    “No.”
    I gave her my most charming smile. “Do you
think we could go for coffee or something some time?”
    She drew back. “Oh, I don’t know.”
    “Well, think about it.”
    A looming presence—Linden—entered my
peripheral vision. He gave Emily a stern, paternal look.
    “I have to get back in line. It was nice to
meet you, Jeff.” She gave me another shy smile, before she took the
little girl’s hand. “Come on, Hannah.”
    “Mommy, my feet hurt.”
    “Every step you take helps save a baby’s
life,” she said, as she pulled the girl along.
    I stood back, watching as she marched along
her circular track once more.
    Sam nudged my shoulder. “Don’t you have a
girlfriend?”
    “Yeah. But it doesn’t hurt to make friends
with the enemy.”
    He smiled. “You would’ve made a great
reporter.” He thought better of it. “Then again maybe not. There’s
no story here, Jeff.”
    “Of course there is. If you can’t come up
with anything else, try a financial angle. The other businesses
have called the cops a few times. That costs the taxpayers
money.”
    “Get real.”
    “I’m telling you, Sam, something bad is gonna
go down. Somebody’s going to get hurt—or worse.”
    “Can I quote you on that?”
    I eyed him warily. “Yes.”

    The morning wasn’t a complete loss. I
got some shots that promised to be good, while Sam went through the
motions of interviewing Linden and several other protesters, as
well as the clinic’s PR Director. He as much as said he had no
intention of writing a story, but it might be useful as background
for a future piece.
    The clock read one by the time I got home.
The entire, endless afternoon stretched before me. I didn’t want to
get started in the darkroom, so I turned on the tube, tried to turn
off my mind and watched Court TV for a couple of hours. But I kept
thinking about those protesters, and Emily Farrell’s earnest face
in particular. I wasn’t attracted to her, but her green eyes had a
haunting quality. She warranted further investigation.
    Restless, I got up and emptied the
dishwasher, opened some of the mail, and dusted one of the end
tables, but couldn’t seem to accomplish anything of note.
    A car pulled up outside the garage just after
four o’clock. Patty was early. It wasn’t the familiar white Mustang
in the drive. A tawny-haired woman emerged from the passenger side
of the blue sedan. I turned for the stairs and jogged down them to
meet her.
    Patty’s hand was poised to knock as I opened
the door. We studied each other for an uncomfortably long moment.
It was the face from the high school graduation photo, but older,
thinner. Who the hell did she remind me of?
    I spoke first. “Hi.”
    “Hi, yourself.” Patty’s tentative smile broke
into a joyful grin and she lunged forward, hugged me
enthusiastically. I stood there, awkwardly put an arm around her,
waiting for a flood of emotion to overtake me, but got