The Sacrifice by Robert Whitlow Read Free Book Online

you?”
    â€œStill single. Do you have any kids?”
    â€œAbout a hundred and ten every day at school but none of my own.”
    Scott paused. The conversation felt as stiff as a newspaper interview. They were both silent for a moment, and he decided to get down to business.
    â€œI’m looking forward to working with the mock trial team,” he said. “At first, I had some reservations about the time commitment, but I’m sure it can be a good program.”
    â€œI’ve been telling the students it will be fun,” Kay replied. “But I’m also trying to recruit kids who will be serious about the competition.”
    That sounded good to Scott. He picked up the mock trial materials he’d put on the corner of his desk.
    â€œI haven’t had a chance to look over the packet of information Dr. Lassiter gave me. Have you gone through it?” he asked.
    â€œYes, but I have a lot of questions.”
    â€œDo we need to go over anything before the first meeting?”
    â€œI’d like that. Tomorrow is Saturday. We could meet for breakfast.”
    Startled, Scott said, “Breakfast?”
    â€œYeah, someplace in the area would be fine with me.”
    Scott occasionally ate breakfast at a local restaurant not far from the courthouse. “How about the Eagle?” he suggested.
    â€œSure. Is 9:30 all right? I don’t get to sleep in during the week.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll look over the materials tonight and see you then.”
    â€œGood. We can catch up with one another and get organized.”
    Scott hung up the phone. It was Kay’s voice all right, but a bit more assertive than when she was sixteen and couldn’t decide which movie she wanted to see.

    It was seven blocks from Scott’s office to the one-story brick house where he lived. Built in the early 1950s, the compact dwelling with black shutters had a detached, single-car garage that was barely large enough for Scott’s small SUV. He pushed the remote-control button and waited for the garage door to creak slowly open.
    Scott bought the house from an older couple who spent the years after their children left home turning the small backyard into a secluded paradise. They built a five-foot-high brick wall around the entire area then carefully landscaped the enclosed plot of ground. It was a perfect refuge for Scott. He lifted the latch on a black, wrought-iron gate and pushed it open. Waiting excitedly on the other side was Nicky.
    â€œHey, big guy.” Scott knelt down and rubbed the curly white fur that covered the dog’s head and neck. Nicky, a two-year-old, twelve-pound Bichon Frise, rested his front paws on Scott’s leg and closed his eyes in contentment.
    It was only a few steps from the gate to the back door of the house. Scott set his briefcase on the kitchen floor and took a dog treat from a glass cookie jar on the counter. When he saw the treat, Nicky sat down and waited until Scott tossed the little bone-shaped biscuit in the air. The dog expertly caught it and scampered from the kitchen to his favorite spot on a narrow oriental rug in the foyer, where he proceeded to munch his reward with as much relish as his ancient, wolfish ancestors would have crunched a deer bone.
    Scott turned on the oven and put a frozen pepperoni pizza on the kitchen counter. Ever since he was a little boy, Scott had fixed frozen pizzas. He’d graduated from the cardboardlike varieties of his childhood to the fancier versions in the deli section of the local supermarket. He would eat anything from anchovies to zucchini on a pizza, but basic pepperoni remained his favorite. By the time he’d changed into a T-shirt and jeans, the oven was ready, and he slid the pizza onto a metal rack he always kept positioned for best pizza-cooking results. He sliced pieces of pepperoni from a long stick he kept in the refrigerator and tossed the extra meat on top of the pizza before the cheese began to