Mark of the Seer by Jenna Kay Read Free Book Online

check. “As you know at every party it's wild and pretty much everyone gets wasted. Well, Don was especially wasted Saturday night.” He paused, making sure I was listening. I gestured for him to keep going. “Anyway, do you remember the huge disco ball hanging from the rafters of the barn?” I nodded a yes. “Well, his football buddies had this grand idea that he should crawl up onto the rafters and swing from the disco ball.”
    “What?” I asked, appalled. I pictured the huge burly Don swinging on the disco ball like it was a horsey. “I know he's stupid, but even the stupidest of the stupids know that swinging on a disco ball hanging from the rafters of a hundred-year-old barn is stupid.” I've heard and seen people do some strange things while intoxicated, but this incident takes not one piece, but the whole cake.
    “Exactly,” Casey agreed. “But here's the thing. Instead of the disco ball cord breaking away from the rafter, it's the whole she-bang.” He paused dramatically, adding, “So you got Don, then the disco ball, and then the rafter falling down. The whole thing sounded like an explosion goin' off.”
    In my head I remembered hearing a crash coming from the barn, right before “I love you” drifted out of my and Brenton's mouth, and a two hour make-out session proceeded. Now I knew what had caused it.
    “How did his hand get busted?”
    “Oh, oh, get this!” He told me, morbidly excited. “When the rafter broke apart, it splintered, causing several sharp pieces to jut out. The sharpest piece pinned his hand to the ground, going straight through meat and bone. It took five guys to pull the smashed rafter off of him to get his hand loose. He went to the hospital, and they said he's gonna need five surgeries before he can use his hand again.
    “Also, he was cut up all over his body from the broken glass of the disco ball.”
    “It was his writing hand, too,” Janey pushed in, her voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy.
    I stared at her in bewilderment. After Casey's little tale of Don Freeman's hand being stabbed by a sharp piece of wood, she chose to point out that it was his writing hand that was busted. Not that he could have broken his neck, paralyzing him. Or that he could have been impaled by the sharp rafter, killing him instantly. Oh. No. The whole incident was so tragic because now he would have to write with his weak hand, or get a cute cheerleader to write for him.
    Boo. Hoo.
    “What's goin' on out there?” Mr. Baker suddenly barked, waddling out of his office.
    Casey straightened his smock. “Just getting ready to stock the back, sir.” I almost let out a giggle when Casey gave the old man a cheesy grin. He was such a butt kisser.
    “I don't pay you three to stand around and gossip,” he snapped harshly, a bead of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Just because it's dead in here don't mean there ain't any workin' that needs doing. Miss Thomas,” he said, pointing a chubby finger at Janey, “go and assist Mr. Anderson in the back—I'm sure he could use some help.”
    Janey's face brightened. “Yes, sir, Mr. Baker.”
    “Yeah,” Casey added. “I really could use some assistance.”
    Hurriedly, the twosome walked to the stockroom, not giving Mr. Baker time to second guess his orders. Sometimes I wondered if the old man was clueless, or just plain losing it. Why in the world would he put those two alone in his stockroom? There was absolutely no way that any work would be done back there tonight—unless you counted tongue wrestling as work.
    He turned on me next. “Miss Miller, I know that customers are few tonight. And since there ain't no customers, I want ya to clean this store top to bottom.”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Baker.” I forced a smile and bit my tongue. For some odd reason I wanted to rile him with a snarky comment, but he was too cool of a boss.
    “All right, then,” he said, pulling his pants high above his waist. “I'll be in the office if ya need me.