Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

answer. "Oh, you know, a b-b-baby-boomer like myself."
    I gulped down half my coffee in one swallow and it burnt my throat badly. I choked,
     I gagged, and after a prolonged coughing fit, I stood up to leave. "Listen, Wendy,
     I'd love to stay and chat, but I really have a lot of things I need to get done. I'm
     sure that once you get used to the idea you'll be okay with it."
    Wendy snorted. She actually snorted in derision. "I doubt it, Mom," she said. "And
     we're not through with this discussion by any means."
    I was afraid of that. I loved my daughter more than life itself, but she was sorely
     trying my patience.
    Wendy continued, "And I expect you to stop by here to talk to me again before you
     leave town. I want to know more about this Rock guy!"
    "It's Stone."
    "Rock, Stone, whatever..."
    I walked out her front door with my chin resting against my chest, lower lip protruding
     and quivering slightly. Exactly when had our roles become reversed? I wondered. I
     felt like I'd just been chastised and sent to my room, my punishment to be meted out
     at a later time. Oh well, at least I'd been granted a small reprieve.
    * * *
    Early Thursday morning I stopped by the dental clinic to have my teeth cleaned and
     x-rayed. The dental hygienist used a new tool that employed a powerful and painful
     jet of cold water to sandblast the plaque off my teeth. It was like a Waterpik on
     steroids. I lay back in the chair, grasping, like a lifeline, the tube that was suctioning
     gallons of water, blood, and saliva from the back of my throat. I was counting the
     ceiling tiles in an attempt not to scream in agony and bolt from the room. It was
     then I remembered why I subjected myself to this modern form of water torture only
     every few years instead of biannually, as recommended. I felt immense relief when
     the cleaning was completed even though my gums were throbbing, and, no doubt, red
     and puffy.
    I nodded absentmindedly as the hygienist chided me on my poor flossing habits and
     warned me of my potential for gingivitis, due to the deep pockets between my teeth
     and gums. My mind was already on the other tasks I needed to accomplish before the
     day was over. It wasn't like I hadn't heard it all before anyway.
    After leaving the dental clinic, I took my Jeep Wrangler to the Dodge dealer to have
     it serviced. It'd been running a little rough and was due for an oil change anyway.
     Kenny, the service manager, promised to give it a thorough checkup. He'd change the
     oil and check the tires, brakes, fluid levels, spark plugs, filters, and belts. He
     thought the carburetor sounded as if it was running a little rich and that the air
     filter was probably clogged. The Jeep was only two years old and still had less than
     15,000 miles on it, so Kenny didn't anticipate any major repairs. It was a slow day
     at the garage, and he assured me he'd have it ready to pick up in a couple of hours.
    During the long drive to New York from Kansas, I didn't want to experience any car
     trouble. Breaking down on the interstate is a terrifying ordeal these days. Whenever
     my vehicle breaks down, and somebody stops to assist me, I immediately question his
     motives. Why would he want to help me? Is he really a molester, a carjacker, a drug
     addict, or some other kind of dangerous thug? As I stand on the shoulder, hood up
     on my car, looking helplessly down at a motor that is refusing to cooperate, I sense
     that motorists are speeding by looking at me, wondering what kind of thug I am too.
     It's a scary situation for both sides. I raise the hood and stare at the motor only
     to make it obvious that the car has broken down, not because I can tell the difference
     between a manifold and a shoebox.
    So far this Jeep has never stranded me. It's the perfect low profile, inconspicuous
     vehicle for a Sherlock Holmes wannabe to go amateur sleuthing in—canary yellow, with
     lots of chrome and lights. I've always been big on accessories, so the Jeep