If Looks Could Kill by Eileen Dreyer Read Free Book Online Page A

case of beer. The last thing he needed now was a Chevy sandwich to investigate. "I can assume he isn't one of the fatalities?"
    Crystal's high, breathy voice slowed, as if her brain had to gear down for the question. "Well, I don't think so. He's the one who called it in."
    "What about sheriff and highway patrol?"
    Pyrite was the Puckett County seat, which meant Mac had the added privilege of tap dancing around a county sheriffs department on the same block and the highway patrol station over the hill to the west. Back home, all he had to worry about pissing off were his superiors and, occasionally, the feds.
    "One deputy headin' that way, highway patrol's over to the other side of the county. Besides, they can't work the same scene without drawin' blood. Should I tell 'em you're on the way?"
    Mac tried to remember where he'd tossed his uniform when he'd walked in. "Yeah. Give me a couple of minutes. The paramedics already rolling?"
    "Well, Heilerman's sent a crew. The paramedics from the community hospital are tied up."
    Heilerman's, Mac thought as he climbed to his feet again. Funeral home. There was some kind of problem there, but he couldn't remember what.
    "Um, you maybe want to make sure they got off quick," was all Crystal would say.
    Oh, yeah. Now Mac remembered. A slow ride to the hospital was good for business. "On my way," was all he said as he hung up and headed for the sink.
    Turning on the cold water, he shoved his head underneath. That and four Excedrin would get him working, anyway.
    He was dressed in five minutes. In another five he was guiding his unit through the lightening streets of Pyrite on the way to the highway where he could already see the shudder of strobes. As he passed the corner of Main and Sixth, he noticed that he'd been right. Chris Jackson's lights were still all on.
    * * *
    Chris was in disguise when she dropped Shelly off at school that morning. It wasn't that she was afraid of running into the judge. She was testing out another book situation. Shelly considered it great fun, especially when nobody recognized the graying, slightly bent, frail woman with glasses and a complete avocado polyester wardrobe with matching net scarf as the town's favorite author. Shelly introduced Chris as her aunt in from over Potosi way, and everyone nodded.
    Chris shuffled the streets in her outfit, amazed at how easily people took to her persona. She'd used no more than the kind of bad, cheap wig older women tend to wear to cover their thinning hair, loose clothes and bad pancake makeup along with her concave posture to effect the change, and everybody bought it without consideration.
    She crossed the street three times just to see what would happen, and found herself escorted by Pete Chitwell who ran the gas station, Thelma Potter, and the new chief himself, who was obviously so distracted by the very lovely Miss Shawntell Malone in her new Lycra skirt that he didn't look twice at Chris, even when she gave him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you for his help.
    She didn't get more than a passing glance from Weird Allen Robertson, which was just as well. Allen had a nasty habit of staring, which, coming from those oily, petulant features, sent chills crawling up Chris's back. At thirty-five, he still lived with his mother, didn't drive, and worked as a stockboy at the ShopMart. The town simply put down his unwashed, overweight appearance to being Weird Allen. Chris suspected that lately he'd been standing outside her back window at night. At first she'd meant to report him. Then she'd begun to see him as the prototype for a villain in her next book.
    Today, he barely noticed her. After all, she was just a disagreeable old woman. She gave more than passing thought to dressing up more often, just to get a chance to watch him unobserved.
    The crowd at the Kozy Kitchen was much more perceptive. It took Luella Travers all of three minutes to demand an explanation.
    "How'd you know?" Chris demanded, finally able to