Love Kills Read Online Free PDF

car on the midnight shift, think, had she only survived that deadly moment in time?
    Mrs. Goldstein held me at arm’s length, gave me a complete once-over from head to toe, spun me around, did it again, and delightedly announced that I looked wonderful. “Are you eating enough?” she demanded, before severely scolding me. “You couldn’t have called first?” She would have prepared a meal.
    â€œThat’s why I didn’t. You’d fuss. You’ve done enough.”
    I turned to hug Mrs. G again, with Bitsy, now trembling, panting, and drooling, in my arms. My clumsy move brought us too close to the chairback and Billy took two swift swipes, just missing the little dog’s nose.
    â€œBilly, you know better!”
    The cat ignored me, leaped lightly to the floor, closed his eyes, and rubbed against Mrs. Goldstein’s ankles, purring loudly.
    Despite my pleas of exhaustion and a long list of chores to be done, my landlady insisted we sit, to nosh on her fresh-baked goods and drink a glass of tea. Afterward, we all trooped across the courtyard to my apartment. Bitsy bounded ahead, to lead the way, while Billy followed at a discreet distance, as though it were mere coincidence that we all happened to be strolling in the same direction.
    The Goldsteins exchanged a conspiratorial glance as I inserted my key, and when I opened the door he hit the light switch with a flourish. Both beamed at my gasp. Hy Goldstein had painted my apartment in my absence: bed and bath the palest shade of pink, like dawn’s faint blush, and the kitchen in sunshine yellow with cream trim and turquoise accents.
    I’d come home to a lighter, brighter, freshly painted world. Even my furniture had been repaired and rearranged, and somehow they’d managed to keep my window herb garden alive and thriving.
    They hoped it would lift my spirits, they said. It did, despite my tears.
    Lottie and I made a quick run for essentials to the big new Publix supermarket on the bay before she left. After trying to start my T-Bird without success, I called AAA to recharge the battery. They took more than an hour to arrive. The driver jump-started the car but warned me to take it to a garage for a long, slow charge or a new battery.
    I didn’t call my mother. All I hungered for now was sleep, in my own bed, and this time I slept like the dead, blessedly dreamless, waking at dawn, disoriented for only a moment. How I love my apartment! What a comfort to wake with Bitsy curled up at my feet and Billy’s big green eyes gazing into mine. Purring loudly, he had obviously forgiven me my absence. I was home.
    For the first time in months, I applied lipstick, eyebrow pencil, and a little mascara, then donned a navy blue skirt and a white blouse that showed off my tan. I pored over the Goldsteins’ morning newspaper, then called to restart my home delivery. I fortified myself with a cup of Cuban coffee before making the call I dreaded, to my friend Onnie in the Miami News library. Slowly I punched the familiar numbers.
    It felt awkward, but I knew there were those in the newsroom who would stare and whisper when they first saw us together. I had to warn her that I was back.
    We both wept.
    â€œWelcome home, Britt,” Onnie finally said, her voice solemn. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ve missed you. Darryl will be so excited. He asks for you every day.”
    My next call was to Fred Douglas, city editor at the News. He didn’t sound surprised when I asked to see him. Lottie must have spilled the news.
    The T-Bird sprang to life at once, a good omen. The familiar drive west across the causeway and the sight of the News building on Biscayne Bay were a comfort. For most of my adult life, that behemoth has been my rock and my sole security. A strange car was parked in my space beneath the building, so I left the T-Bird in visitors’ parking across the street. My Miami News ID still gained me entry; I