Don't Bet On It by J. L. Salter Read Free Book Online Page B

restaurant?”
    â€œYes, even that. Despite being a bit peculiar, it was tastefully done…”
    â€œAnd you’re making fun of me again.”
    â€œThat one was not intentional. I only meant Brett has been the soul of chivalry so far, and I have no reason to expect anything less at his house tonight.”
    â€œDon’t these words have meaning to you any more?” Joan held up fingers to visually enumerate four dire components: “You’re going to be locked inside the spooky house of a crazy man you don’t even know…”
    â€œI doubt it’s spooky, the door will remain unlocked, he’s not crazy… just unusual, and I already do know him. Case closed.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what the coroner will say around midnight.”
    â€œDon’t bet on it, Joan.”
    Before I departed, she finally gave me the password to her terribly flawed laptop.

    ****

    Later that evening
    For our fourth interaction, which in many ways was our first actual date , I decided to dress to impress him. To show off my legs, I wore a slim black skirt just above the knee and a pair of slides with nearly three-inch heels. Up top, I had a sleeveless shell in subdued magenta over a tight spaghetti strap bodice — in contrasting color — and my most advantageous brassiere. In other words, after three outings with low key wardrobe, I was finally going for effect.
    Good thing Brett had provided a hand-drawn map, because his was an area of Verdeville I’d spent very little time in. It was through the old retail district southeast of downtown, which had lost almost all its business to the nearly revitalized downtown and the much newer hubs near our three interstate exits. The map also explained, finally, why Brett had been jogging so near that old electronics store — his neighborhood was less than half a mile west of there.
    Brett’s house was nothing special and certainly not spooky. Much like his truck, the dwelling showed age, dents, and mileage. Had a nice deep porch on two sides… numerous tall shady trees on what looked like about an acre. That metal roof would resonate nicely in a light rainfall.
    I’d been curious about his culinary skills and wondered if we’d end up with a frozen entrée or something from a burger joint.
    No point in mentioning that Brett’s clothing was nearly identical to everything he’d worn before. “Come on in.” He met me at the door with wooden spoon in hand and a harried look on his face. “These instructions are intensely flawed and might even be designed for an alternate universe.”
    Entering, I couldn’t restrain my astonished chuckle as I saw pouches, cans, pans, skillets, and numerous other aspects of the kitchen in wild disarray. “What are you making, a state dinner?”
    â€œIt’s alleged to be a simple single skillet meal, but something’s gone terribly wrong.” He waved the spoon toward the pouch. “I’m only supposed to stir it occasionally for ten minutes, but I’ve been whacking this mess for at least fifteen and it’s still not done.”
    Moving closer, I surveyed the contents of his skillet. Seemed to be mainly pasta and shrimp, with an indiscernible pale sauce and scattered green veggie fragments. “So what are all these other things for?” I nodded toward the counter.
    â€œWhen it looked like the pouch mess was a goner, I figured I might make Sloppy Joes instead.”
    My appreciative smile was to indicate either would be fine with me.
    â€œBut after I’d already thawed the stinking meat I realized I was out of buns.”
    Laughed out loud… I couldn’t help it. “Sorry, Brett, I’m just surprised to find somebody who’s klutzier in the kitchen than I am.” I extracted the spoon from his anxious grip. “Let me tend the skillet and you wrap that hamburger meat back up.”
    He looked skeptical for