Dying to Please Read Online Free PDF Page A

investigation?”
    “It doesn't. I was just curious.” He closed the little notebook. “And there isn't an investigation; I was getting a preliminary statement. It all goes in the report.”
    “Why isn't there an investigation?” she asked indignantly.
    “They were caught in the act, with Judge Roberts's property loaded in their pickup. There's nothing to investigate. All that's left to do is the paperwork.”
    For him, maybe; she still had to deal with the insurance company and getting the sliding glass doors in the sunroom repaired, not to mention replacing the broken television. The Judge, typical man, had loved his big screen and had already mentioned that he was thinking about getting a high-definition television this time.
    “Does the fact that I'm also the Judge's bodyguard have to go in the report?” she asked.
    He had been about to move away; he paused, looking down at her. “Why?”
    She lowered her voice even more. “The Judge prefers his friends don't know. I think it embarrasses him that his kids nagged him into hiring a bodyguard. As it is, he's the envy of his crowd because he has a female butler; you can imagine the jokes they make. Plus, if there is any sort of threat to him, it gives me an edge if no one knows I'm trained to guard him.”
    He tapped the notebook against his palm, his expression still unreadable, but then he shrugged and said, “It isn't relevant to the case. As I said, I was just curious.”
    He might never smile, but she did; she gave him a big, relieved one. “Thank you.”
    He nodded and walked away, and Sarah sighed in regret. The packaging was fine, but the contents were blah.
             
    The morning was beyond hectic. Getting any more sleep was impossible, of course, but getting anything accomplished was equally so. Without electricity she couldn't prepare the Judge's preferred breakfast, cinnamon French toast, or do laundry or even iron his morning newspaper so the ink didn't rub off on his fingers. She served him cold cereal, fat-free yogurt, and fresh fruit, which made him grumble about healthy food being the death of him. Nor was there hot coffee, which made them both very unhappy.
    An enterprising idea sent her next door to the Cheatwoods' house, where she made a trade with the cook, Martha: the inside skinny on the night's happenings for a thermos of fresh coffee. Armed with caffeine, she returned home and calmed the troubled waters. After her own second cup, she was ready to tackle the day's problems again.
    She didn't mind making a pest of herself, if she got the desired results. Two more phone calls to the power company produced a repair truck and a lanky man who without haste set to work. Half an hour later, the house hummed to life and he moseyed away.
    Harassing the phone company was more trouble; they—the unknown “they” in charge—had so arranged things that either one could leave a voice mail message, forgoing the comfort of speaking to a real human in favor of saving time, or one could tolerate being put on hold for an obscene amount of time waiting for said real human to become available for haranguing. Sarah was stubborn; her cell phone weighed only a few ounces, and she had unlimited minutes. She waited; but eventually her persistence was rewarded, right before noon, by another repair truck bearing that most precious of human beings, Someone Who Could Fix Things.
    Of course, as soon as the phone line was restored, the phone began ringing off the hook. All of the Judge's friends had heard about the night's adventure and they wanted a blow-by-blow description. Some busybody called the Judge's oldest son, Randall, who called his two siblings, Jon and Barbara. The Judge didn't mind so much his sons knowing, but he wrinkled his nose in dismay when the Caller ID flashed his daughter's number. Not only did Barbara worry excessively about her father, but she had by far the most forceful personality of his three children. In Sarah's opinion, Barbara