Danger Zone by Doreen Owens Malek Read Free Book Online Page B

Street Children’s Home in Crescent Beach, Florida, and the janitor who found me in the vestibule was named Steve. Now are there any further questions, or can we get by my tragic past and talk about something more interesting?”
    Karen couldn’t think of anything more interesting than his background, but it was obvious that he didn’t want to discuss it. She was saved from having to reply by their waiter, who brought the prawn cocktails. Instead of the red sauce that usually garnished shrimp at home a spicy mustard relish was served with the shellfish, and Karen found it delicious. She looked up from a bite of the delightful dish and found that Colter was watching her with obvious enjoyment.
    “Was it the right choice?” he asked.
    “Oh, yes, it’s wonderful. What’s in the sauce, do you know?”
    He grinned. “I know, but I don’t think I’d better tell. It’s a Carib recipe and liable to shock you.”
    Karen chewed with somewhat less enthusiasm and he chuckled.
    “What do you mean?” she asked warily.
    “Are you sure you want to hear?”
    She stared at him balefully.
    “All right. One of the main ingredients is clay.”
    Karen coughed and put down her fork. “Clay? As in dirt?”
    “That’s right, but take it easy. The Indians have been eating it for centuries so I don’t think it’s going to poison you.”
    Karen pushed the crystal dish a little further away from her on the table. “You won’t mind if I don’t take that chance, will you?”
    He shrugged. “Chicken.”
    Karen folded her arms on the table. “Steven Colter, you don’t mean to sit there and tell me you think it’s a good idea to consume mud.”
    “You thought it tasted fine until I told you what was in it.”
    “That’s beside the point. It can’t be healthful.”
    “I’m told the Indians around here live to be over one hundred,” he said in reply.
    The waiter came to clear and Karen indicated that she was finished. When the melons arrived seconds later, she surveyed her portion cautiously and said, “Is there anything I should know about this before I eat it?”
    “The filling is just chopped beef,” Colter said, smiling. “Nothing that you wouldn’t encounter in your average American hamburger.”
    “And the melon? Anything weird involved there?”
    “Does it look like a honeydew?”
    “Yes, but...”
    “Does it smell like a honeydew?”
    She sighed.
    “Well,” he said, spreading his hands, “you know the old expression; if it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck...”
    “All right, all right,” she muttered, taking a bite.
    It was, of course, delectable.
    “Well? Any shooting pains? Nausea? Double vision?” Colter inquired.
    “Very funny,” Karen said darkly.
    “I’ll bet you were one of those kids who made your mother cut the crusts off sandwich bread and wouldn’t eat tomatoes unless the seeds were removed,” he said, grinning.
    “I am not a fussbudget,” she said defensively. “Any normal, thinking person would object to swallowing stuff that should be part of an adobe hut.”
    He shook his head. “You can take the girl out of New Jersey, but you can’t take...”
    “Oh, shut up,” Karen said, interrupting him.
    They both glanced around as music began behind them. A guitarist accompanied a singer dressed in a long skirt and a colorful off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. She began a tune so laden with sorrow that, even though Karen couldn’t quite understand her, it was clear the song was detailing a ruined love affair or an insurmountable loss of some kind.
    “That isn’t Spanish but it sounds familiar,” Karen whispered.
    “Portuguese,” he answered quietly. “If you listen closely you can probably make out some of it.”
    The woman continued her song. Karen found the mournful notes so disturbing that she sat in silence for several seconds after the singer had finished and retired. The diners applauded politely.
    “She’s a fado singer,” Colter clarified, when Karen met his