Killing Katie (An Affair With Murder) (Volume 1) by B.A. Spangler Read Free Book Online Page B

afternoon? Buy a new computer. A laptop that I could secretly keep to myself. I’ll have to get cash from the bank or put it on a credit card.
    My head began to spin again as I traced how every transaction showed up on our monthly bills. We shared that chore, switching off month to month, taking turns.
    Was it my turn to pay the bills and balance the checkbook this month? If not, how much could I get away with spending?
    Steve sometimes checked my work when it was his turn anyway, I knew.
    “Can I wrap that up for you to go, ma’am?” our waiter asked. I hated being called ma’am. My mother was a ma’am , and she wasn’t exactly one of my favorite people. I felt fit and sexy—did I look like a ma’am? I certainly didn’t feel like one. The waiter leaned forward and repeated, “Ma’am?” I cringed at the sound.
    “No, no, that’s fine. I’m done,” I answered primly, keeping my lips straight and tight, as if something had been wrong with his service. But then I saw his shoes—tattered, torn, and barely holding together. That pair of black walking shoes were probably older than anything I owned—except for maybe our home computer. I bit my lip, feeling the twinge of guilt. He was just doing his job and trying to be polite. It wasn’t his fault I was self-conscious. I offered a smile to thank him. And as I did, my eyes fell on my next destination.
    Just down the street from Romeo’s Café, I saw the public library. I couldn’t remember the last time I had visited the library—might have been for a school project with Michael, who had done a report on the Dewey decimal system. But I remembered seeing computers and I remembered they had access to the Internet. Its open hours would align perfectly with my schedule and with when Steve’s mother usually watched Snacks.
    Feeling happy with my plan of where to go after lunch, I made sure to add a little extra to the tip, hoping our waiter would use the money to buy himself some new shoes.

EIGHT
    T HE LIBRARY SMELLED of old books and furniture polish. I wrinkled my nose, recalling its strong odors from growing up. I couldn’t help but wonder briefly if I should be doing the same at home? I dusted, and Steve helped now and again on rainy Saturdays when the weather gave back the hours. But I’d thought the days of spraying furniture polish and wiping everything down had gone the way of the aluminum ice tray and hot-air popcorn makers.
    A long counter with all the amenities one would expect at a library stood to the right side of the entrance, where a mousy-looking librarian with a nose too close to her eyes greeted me. I almost laughed when I first looked at her. There was no doubt she was the librarian. If there was ever a stereotypical picture of a librarian, it was this woman. She wore a corn-blue, ruffled blouse with a dark blue V-neck vest. Her hair, brushed gray by age, had been pulled back into a tight bun. It sat atop her head like a big round button. But what did it for me were her thick, squarish reading glasses perched at the end of her nose and the chains running under her ears and around her neck. She stared over the frame of her glasses with a pert smile and greeted me. I smiled back, noticing that she wore no jewelry—not even a wedding band. I wondered if there was some kind of librarian’s code.
    “May I help you?” she asked in a voice that sounded as old and dusty as the books on the shelves.
    “Yes, thank you,” I quickly answered, feeling as if I were back in high school, researching a term paper. “I’d like to use a computer?”
    The librarian jutted her chin up and glanced over her shoulder. I turned in the direction she indicated to find two rows of tables, both of them filled with various types of computers, and all of them looking newer than our home computer.
    “No books today?” she asked. I shook my head. The librarian mumbled something under her breath about how nobody visited to check out books anymore. I supposed she was