Dearly Devoted Dexter by Jeff Lindsay Read Free Book Online

all.”
    “Oh,” he said, and his sister chimed in, “Are you staying for dinner?”
    “Oh, I think I should probably be going,” I said, but Rita put a surprisingly firm hand on my shoulder.
    “You’re not driving anywhere like this,” she said.
    “Like what?”
    “Tipsy,” said Cody.
    “I’m not tipsy,” I said.
    “You said you were,” said Cody. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard him put four words in a row like that, and I was very proud of him.
    “You did,” Astor added. “You said you’re not drunk, you’re just a little tipsy.”
    “I said that?” They both nodded. “Oh. Well then—”
    “Well then,” Rita chimed in, “I guess you’re staying for dinner.”
    Well then. I guess I did. I am pretty sure I did, anyway. I do know that at some point I went to the refrigerator for a lite beer and discovered they were all gone. And at some later point I was sitting on the couch again. The television was on and I was trying to figure out what the actors were saying and why an invisible crowd thought it was the most hilarious dialogue of all time.
    Rita slid onto the couch next to me. “The kids are in bed,” she said. “How do you feel?”
    “I feel wonderful,” I said. “If only I could figure out what’s so funny.”
    Rita put a hand on my shoulder. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? Letting the bad guy go. Children . . .” She moved closer and put her arm all the way around me, laying her head on my shoulder. “You’re such a good guy, Dexter.”
    “No, I’m not,” I said, wondering why she would say something so very strange.
    Rita sat up and looked from my left eye to my right eye and back again. “But you are, you KNOW you are.” She smiled and nestled her head back down on my shoulder. “I think it’s . . . nice that you came here. To see me. When you were feeling bad.”
    I started to tell her that wasn’t quite right, but then it occurred to me: I
had
come here when I felt bad. True, it was only to bore Doakes into going away, after the terrible frustration of losing my playdate with Reiker. But it had turned out to be a pretty good idea after all, hadn’t it? Good old Rita. She was very warm and she smelled nice. “Good old Rita,” I said. I pulled her against me as tight as I could and leaned my cheek against the top of her head.
    We sat that way for a few minutes, and then Rita wiggled to her feet and pulled me up by the hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you to bed.”
    Which we did, and when I had flopped down under the top sheet and she crawled in beside me, she was just so nice and smelled so good and felt so warm and comfortable that—
    Well. Beer really is amazing stuff, isn’t it?

 
    CHAPTER 6
     
    I WOKE UP WITH A HEADACHE, A FEELING OF TREMENDOUS self-loathing, and a sense of disorientation. There was a rose-colored sheet against my cheek. My sheets—the sheets I woke up to every day in my little bed—were not rose-colored, and they did not smell like this. The mattress seemed too spacious to be my modest trundle bed, and really—I was quite sure this was not my headache either.
    “Good morning, handsome,” said a voice somewhere over my feet. I turned my head and saw Rita standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at me with a happy little smile.
    “Ung,” I said in a voice that sounded like a toad’s croak and hurt my head even more. But apparently it was an amusing kind of pain, because Rita’s smile widened.
    “That’s what I thought,” she said. “I’ll get you some aspirin.” She leaned over and rubbed my leg. “Mmm,” she said, and then turned and went into the bathroom.
    I sat up. This may have been a strategic mistake, as it made my head pound a great deal more. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and waited for my aspirin.
    This normal life was going to take a little getting used to.
     
     
    But oddly enough it didn’t, not really. I found that if I limited myself to one or two beers, I could