SUSPENSE THRILLERS-A Boxed Set by Billie Sue Mosiman Read Free Book Online Page B

smiled. “Yessir, how’d you know?”
    “The eggs are breaking and the coffee’s perking. Come on now,” Mrs. Lawrence called from the kitchen.
    “Since when was life fair? Let’s go, jock.” Jack turned and headed for the kitchen.
    “Yeah, since when,” Willie repeated, and drew himself up to his four-feet-one-inch height and stretched long lanky arms above his tousled head. There was no fighting the combined forces of his father and Mrs. Lawrence. She was the most determined woman he had ever known. It was seven o’clock on Monday morning, June fifteenth. At least this way he had the whole day to enjoy so maybe they were right about that early-to-bed-early-to-rise garbage. Maybe.
    It was the smell of bacon frying that finally pulled him, against all good sense, to the kitchen and into the company of the two people who made up his family.
    The small wooden table in the dining alcove off the country-sized kitchen was covered with a red-and-white checkered cloth. Dishes of food made a rough circle in the center of the table. When Jack entered the sunny room, he always found perfect order. Betty Lawrence presided over this order. Her dark skin gleamed like polished mahogany. The silver in her black wiry hair gave her the air of a matriarch.
    “It’s getting cold and don’t blame me,” she said peevishly. “I work and slave, slave and work, and what do I get?” She never waited for an answer. “I get late-bodies, lazy bones, and grumbling children. And what will the department think of a young cop coming in to work with egg on his face because he lazed around when I told him it time to be gone?"
    "Now, now, Mrs. Lawrence. I'm not going to be late."
    “Well, where’s the boy?” She poured two glasses of orange juice and set them squarely above the silverware.
    “I’m right here, Mrs. Lawrence.” Willie sauntered to the table and took his place without looking at the black woman.
    “Did you wash your face? Did you comb your hair? I can see for myself you didn’t bother to tuck in your shirttail.” She moved to the counter to pour Jack’s coffee. “I don’t know what’s gonna come of the boy,” she said to the canister set.
    “I did too wash my face.” Willie did not want to get into anything complicated. One out of three was not so bad. And what could he do about that cowlick that stuck up from the back of his head, bop it with a baseball bat?
    Mrs. Lawrence ladled out heaping spoonfuls of grits into Jack’s plate. He raised a palm to stop her, but she ignored the gesture. Feeding the troops was her business.
    “I seen where that Mexican boy got shot,” she commented. She began to ladle smaller portions of the grits onto Willie’s plate. “It seems a crying shame to me, but who am I? I ain’t no policeman. I’m only a working woman, and what I say don’t count.”
    Jack’s appetite vanished. “I was there, Mrs. Lawrence. It couldn’t be helped, believe me.”
    Willie’s head shot up in excitement. “You were there, Dad? Honest? You never been in a shooting before, huh? Did you shoot him? Did he try to hurt you?”
    Jack wearily rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand. He wished he had not mentioned his part in the mess. “Willie, you’re going to have to get it out of your head that all police are trigger-happy cowboys. No, I didn’t shoot anyone.”
    “Well, who did? Did you see ‘em, Dad?” Willie's interest was bright and that bothered Jack.
    “Willie, listen to me,” Jack glanced at his housekeeper and she turned her back to busy herself at the sink. “I’m not playing cops and robbers. It’s not the way you see it on television. When people die, sometimes it’s a terrible thing, and in this case it couldn’t be helped. The boy was on drugs.” Jack carefully emphasized the last word. “He didn’t know what he was doing. We tried to talk to him, calm him down, but he tried to stab my partner and…and…it just happened. It couldn’t be helped, but we aren’t