Kiss of Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

Pete leaned forward in his chair.
    "Sorry," he said, "what were we talking about?"
    "We were discussing what should and should not be said on the stand."
    "Right," Pete said. "Right. Just be honest, is what you said."
    "Correct." Guttridge said. Pete didn't trust guys with beards, and Guttridge had a hell of a beard, a big wooly thing as thick as the curly hair on his head. But Guttridge was his father's choice, and his father went with the best that money could buy, so Pete went with the flow.
    "So, again," Guttridge said, "you understand that when Ms. Lainey asks you a question, it is in your best interest to give her short, succinct answers."
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    "Succinct, right." Pete felt his fingertips drawn back to the loose stitch like a magnet. They'd come out in a week if everything went as planned, and good old Dad Martinsburg was going to pick up the tab for whatever cosmetic surgery Pete required to get rid of the scars. Pete wasn't so sure he wanted to be prettied up just yet.
    "Yes," Guttridge continued, his baggy blue eyes regarding Pete. "So when Counselor Lainey asks you why you went to the property on Chesterton Road, how will you respond?"
    "I heard there was a party there."
    "Were you invited to this party?"
    "No," Pete said.
    "Were you under the influence of drugs or alcohol?" "I had a few sips of schnapps. Peppermint." "Were you drunk?" "No."
    "So you went to crash the party?"
    Pete sighed, his fingertips drifting once again to the cut on his cheek.
    "I heard that the zombies were having a party and that some real people were going to be there too, and I didn't like what I heard the zombies were going to do."
    Pete watched Guttridge pooch out his lower lip as he peered down at him through his glasses. The glasses were light frames of gold wire, the kind a lot of overweight guys with big faces wore.
    "Don't call them zombies," Guttridge said. "Say 'differently biotic.'"
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    "They call themselves zombies," Pete said, just to see if he could get a rise out of Wooly Face. No luck.
    "Doesn't mean you can. Don't say 'real people,' either. If you could remember to say traditionally biotic it would be helpful also. Understand that you may hear me use other terms, but that doesn't mean you should. You need to project Wholesome and Respectful. Let me do Outraged, if I need to."
    "Why should you have all the fun?" Pete tapped the edge of a fingernail on the heavy tabletop.
    Guttridge gave him a thin smile. "Because you already had yours. Now, back to business. Did you go to the party alone?"
    "No."
    "Who were you with?"
    "TC Stavis."
    "I see. What did you and Mr. Stavis do, once you arrived at the party?"
    "We parked the car at a turnoff a half mile down the road, and then we walked through the woods until we got to the house, and then we waited."
    "Don't volunteer the info about the car unless asked a direct question," Guttridge said. "Why were you waiting outside?"
    "We weren't invited."
    Guttridge frowned. "Very funny. Please answer the question."
    "We were waiting to see if Phoebe was at the party." "About Miss Kendall," Guttridge said, shuffling a file to the top of his deck.
    "Morticia Scarypants," Pete said, smiling.
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    But Guttridge's well of patience seemed bottomless, probably because good old Darren paid him by the hour. "Please forget you ever invented that name," he said, "unless you want to be tagged something similar when you get sent to prison."
    Pete laughed, and he could feel the skin around his stitches grow taut with the movement. "What happened, Your Honor, is that I saw Julie with the differently biotic boy, and I remembered what he told ..."
    Guttridge lifted his fleshy hand, cutting Pete's thought short. The ring on Guttridge's finger was the size of a cherry tomato, with a large onyx set in the center.
    "Another thing," Guttridge said. "You need to stop calling her Julie. There is no Julie I see associated in any way with your case, and the last thing you want is anyone in the courtroom to be confused.