Killing America's Sweetheart: A Natalie Miller Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

and we headed outside to a nearby bench. I proceeded to tell her everything.
    “Holy shit! You’ve never had precognitive dreams before. What does this mean?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve never had something l ike this occur. I’m used to the knowing the random unknown, but not something as vivid and clear as this,” I said shaking my head.
    “It’s a good idea you didn’t mention the dream to Zack. It’s one thing for him to accept your intuition, but I think he’d freak out if he knew you were dreaming too.”
    I wholeheartedly agreed. Zack thought my abilities were cute, entertaining and sometimes helpful with his job. But this would definitely throw him off balance. He might think I was a full-fledged nut.
    “How late are you working? Maybe we can go to Chipotle for dinner?” I asked.
    “That sounds so good, but I can’t. I have derby practice tonight,” she said making a sad face.
    She may look meek and mild , with her shortly cropped hair, trademark black rimmed glasses and fresh face, but Karen “the killer” Kane was also a badass roller derby chick. She plays for Treeville’s Dynamic Derby Dames and she’s a fucking monster. I would never want to play against her. She’s my friend and I love her like a sister, but something happens to Karen when she puts on that helmet and mouth guard. I do not envy the opposing players at all.
    “No worries. I guess I’ll just nuke a healthy dinner of mac ‘n cheese,” I said in my best pitiful voice. After saying our goodbyes, I got in my car and drove back to town. It was only going to be noon, so I decided to go home and save money by fixing a sandwich. Honey was happy to s ee me and after eating I noticed how messy my apartment had become. I knew it was time to do what I hated; I was going to have to clean. Dishes, clothes, bathroom, vacuum and dust, my place needed the works. It was going to take all day.
    Take all day it did. By the time I finally folded the last freshly laundered shirt it was nearly 6 P.M.
    “Where did the day go?” I mumbled to Honey, who was just enjoying a leisurely stretch after awakening from a nap.
    Damn dog. All she did was eat, sleep, piss and shit. When I die I want to come back as a dog in a good home. That would be the life.
    I began riffling through my sparse cupboards looking for something to eat when my phone rang. I checked the caller ID and saw it was my mom.
    “Hi Mija, what are you doing?” she asked.
    “Nothing really. I just finished cleaning and was looking for something to eat,” I said as I spotted a box of macaroni and cheese in the very back of the shelf.
    “Oh, you should come over. I just made some enchiladas and the beans and rice are just about done.”
    My stomach rumbled. Enchiladas were my weakness and she knew it.
    “I’ll be over in a few minutes,” I replied shutting the cupboard door without a second thought to my original dinner plans.
    Chapter Seven
    Honey and I arrived at my mom’s small two bedroom cottage in record time. I loved the old neighborhood; the homes here had personality and individuality. They weren’t like the new monstrosities that were popping up all over the south side of town. The nouveau riche mini palaces that were 3000 sq. feet of living space with a bare strip of grass known as a yard. Call me crazy, but that wasn’t my idea of home.
    After letting Honey do her business we hustled inside and both began drooling over the exotic scents that awaited us.
    “You’re just in time, the beans and rice are done,” my mom said walking us into the kitchen.
    “Man, this smells so good. I feel bad for all the other people dining on mac ‘n cheese right now.”
    I grabbed a plate and served myself a generous portion and sat down at the kitchen table with mom. I even made up a little plate for Honey, because if I didn’t there would be hell to pay. That little bitch was more Mexican than me.
    My mom’s name is Selma Estrada, but I just call her mom. She’s in her early