Killer Shortbread Read Online Free PDF Page A

about a year ago, but I just thought that he was refusing to pay them. I didn’t think he had fallen so low…”
                  “Bad things happen to bad people,” Jeremy grimaced.
                  I didn’t comment on that. Let him think of Randy what he wants.
                  He went up to the door and I gingerly followed suit, doing my best not to step on the cigarette butts that littered the ground. On the wall were four doorbells, each with a name written on tape next to them:
                  100 Lyla Anderson
                  200 Anna Hartman 
                  300 Randy Peters
                  400 Quentin Kelly
                  Jeremy pressed the grimy button next to my ex-husband’s name, and a speaker came on. I bit my tongue to avoid gasping when I heard his gravelly voice echo through the grill: “Who is it?”
                  God, even his voice had changed. Gone was the silky-smooth, musical lilt. Gone were the warmth and the ever-present trace of laughter. Randy sounded like he smoked two packs a day.
                  Rubbing his jaw, Jeremy looked over at me, and when I nodded, he turned back to the grill and barked:
                  “Police, open up.”
                  The speaker clicked off and the door buzzed open. I followed the detective through, and he pulled open the gate on an old-fashioned elevator. I regarded it nervously: it looked like it was going to collapse at any moment. Even the cable seemed to be rotting away.
                  He pressed the “up” arrow, and the old machine’s doors scraped open. Stepping inside, he held out his hand to me, smiling reassuringly.
                  “Come on now, these things were made to last.”
                  I resisted the urge to swat him and took his hand. He closed the gate behind me and squeezed my fingers, before pressing a button with the number 3 nearly rubbed off it.
                  I closed my eyes against the groans of the cable as we began our ascent.
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
                  The doorknob was rusted through. The paint was all but completely peeled off of the wooden door, and despite the three locks, it looked all but sturdy. I could hear Jeremy's breathing accelerate beside me as we stepped out of the open elevator door, still holding hands. Apartment 300. The home of my ex, just another owner of a failed business. 
    I was suddenly aware of Jeremy staring at me. He smiled that same, encouraging smile, his eyes glinting with both fear and excitement. Suddenly, he leaned in and pressed his lips against my forehead. I breathed out in surprise, then closed my eyes and leaned against him. For one precious moment, everything almost seemed okay.
    And then his lips lifted and it all came crashing back: my bakery, Derek, Randy... Everything was not okay. Not at all. But we were going to fix it.
    "Promise me you'll stay close to me in there, okay?" he said quietly, cupping my face in his hands.
    I nodded silently. With a deep breath and two long strides across the musty carpet, he was in front of the rotting door. Biting my lip nervously, I slowly inched up beside him just as he knocked on it.
    "Po-" he began, then stopped short when the door slowly swung in with his touch.
    Gingerly, he pushed it open. I shivered at the squeaking of the rusted hinges, and then I froze.
    Sitting there on the floor, scared and wailing, was my Derek.
    " Maisie, no !" 
    I didn't think; I just ran forward, reaching for my son. All I wanted was to hold him in my arms, to have him near me. Something flashed in the corner of my eye, and then everything went black.
     
    My head hurt like high hell; even the darkness behind my eyelids seemed too bright. Groaning, I tried to shift my body, but something was stopping me. All I could do was wiggle my toes.