Kill Me Tomorrow Read Online Free PDF

meeting I’d attended, but I’d found it a lot more interesting than having a tooth drilled.
    The Reverend assumed what I took to be a grieved expression, but Brizante laughed and said, “We do our best to discourage sightseers, Mr. Scott. You got only yourself to blame. Or did Lu make you come here?”
    I told him Miss Brizante had suggested it, but I’d come of my own free will. At that the Reverend managed another of those sweetish smiles and commented, “I daresay, to those not intimately involved with the issues under discussion, these meetings must often seem dry as—as sermons,” he finished, seeming pleased. “But the work is necessary.” His eyes—which I noted were light brown—took on a sort of glazed and distant look. “‘Man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until the evening.’ Psalms: One-oh-four, Twenty-three. Indeed, the work must be done. ‘And thou shalt teach them ordinances and laws, and shalt shew them the way wherein they must walk, and the work that they must do.’ Exodus: Eighteen, Twenty.”
    Keerist, I thought, this guy must think I’m his congregation.
    â€œFor,” the Reverend continued, all Revved up, “‘by works a man is justified’—James: Two, Twenty-four—and ‘Also unto thee, O Lord, belongeth mercy: for thou renderest to every man according to his work.’ Psalms: Sixty, Two-twelve.”
    Pretty quick the Reverend would start trying to save me, I feared. And I didn’t want to be saved. At least, not this minute. So, as he launched into “‘Be ye strong therefore, and let not your hands be weak,’” I smiled and said, “‘What I must do is all that concerns me, no matter if the kitchen sinks.’ Emerson, Self-Reliance , slightly edited.”
    Brizante laughed again. The Reverend didn’t. Brizante said, “You were lucky enough to hear about one of our most interesting problems here at Sunrise Villas, Mr. Scott. Maybe Reverend Archie should tell Mrs. Okiyame, ‘Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand is doing.’ Or doeth? Or is that in the Bible—”
    â€œMatthew: Six, Four,” said the Reverend, without enthusiasm. Then he looked upon me. “It’s Mr. Sheldon Scott?” I nodded. “Well, I would guess you aren’t a resident of the Villas. Are you visiting here, Mr. Scott?”
    â€œJust passing through,” I said. “Though I might stick around for a few days. Hard to say, Reverend.”
    â€œI do hope you can remain over the weekend. Perhaps you could attend services at my church Sunday morning. It’s open to all, the Universalist Communion Church on—”
    â€œI’m afraid not,” I said. “I usually sleep late on Sunday mornings.”
    That didn’t go over real big with him. After a couple more bland comments he excused himself and walked out.
    Lucrezia said, “You want to wait for us in the car, Shell?”
    â€œSure.” I figured she wanted to give Brizante a hint about what I was doing here. I noticed that ancient Mr. DiGiorno was leaving the table, so I waited till he went by us and out the door. As he passed I saw that the little finger on his left hand was missing, and there was a fine white scar on the right side of his wrinkled neck. All in all, not exactly a man to inspire confidence in the innocent and pure.
    By the time I got outside, DiGiorno was standing on the sidewalk talking to a short, very wide man, wearing tan whipcord trousers and short-sleeved shirt. On his head was a white Stetson, and the hair visible below the hat was trimmed so short in back it almost looked shaved. As I walked toward them DiGiorno turned and moved along the sidewalk, reasonably agile for a guy with both feet in the grave, and the broad-shouldered man went across the street, with long strides and an exaggerated swinging of his shoulders, to a