Monkey Wrench Read Online Free PDF

machines, so we weren’t in direct competition. I sent my customers who needed a machine to him, and he sent me those looking for fabric and quilt classes. It was a good business relationship.
    “Is she okay?” Freddy asked me.
    I stuck my hands in the water. It was too hot but I didn’t want to back away. I didn’t want Freddy to see my face. He could tell when I was lying.
    “She’s fine. Can you buy baskets for the prizes?” He nodded
    Buster came in the QP kitchen as Freddy was drying the knives. He was wearing his tightest SJPD black T-shirt and black jeans. I could tell he hadn’t stopped at home yet because he was still wearing his gun. It was as if he knew Freddy was going to be here. Intimidation was the name of the game.
    He said hello, and went straight to the refrigerator. His six-foot-three frame filled the open space. He peered into the interior like he was sixteen and in his mother’s kitchen. I didn’t mind the rear view but couldn’t help but fret about the electricity being wasted.
    “Hi, babe,” I said. “Sorry, we’re out of Vitamin Water.”
    Buster grunted and took out a quart of milk. I have three brothers, I knew what came next. I held out a glass. Buster ignored it and twisted off the top.
    Freddy said, “Late night again?”
    Buster turned to me. “So what, now. You talking about me?” he asked. He had a dangerous glint in his eye. He took a long drink from the container.
    I shook my head. My guilt about slipping about Buster being on the drug task force found its way into my voice. “Of course not.”
    Buster caught my hesitation. He tilted the milk and looked at Freddy. “She been complaining about my rotten moods? How I never have time to take her out anymore?”
    “It’s pretty evident that you’re busy. The bathroom …” Freddy said. He was trying to be diplomatic. I had to give him that. That was not Freddy’s usual modus operandi.
    Buster was relentless. “Since you’re over here all the time already, maybe you’d like to paint the bathroom.”
    Enough. I took the milk from Buster and poured the remainder into the glass. I rinsed the container. “Buster, Freddy and I have work to do. We’re working on the Quilters Crawl together, you know that. Knock it off. You’re out of line.”
    Freddy dried his hand on a paper towel. He gathered up his Quilters Crawl notebook. “We’re done for today,” he said.
    He walked to the doorway and turned back, stroking his beard. His eyes sought Buster’s and held them. “Your girl has not spilled your deep dark secrets, I guarantee that.”
    He managed to make it sound like just the opposite. I blushed. Buster glowered. Freddy disappeared.
    I turned on Buster, with the milk container in my hand. Buster took it from me and tossed it into the recycling bin.
    “Geez, Buster, that was unnecessary,” I said. “I know you’re tired and cranky, but come on.”
    “You do understand he moved up here to be near you, don’t you?” Buster said, washing his dirty glass. He could only push the caveman act so far before his natural need for order took over.
    “Not at all. He wanted to be closer to his brother.”
    “That’s what he tells you, maybe, but I know the real reason. He fell for you when you two were at Asilomar last year.”
    I wiped down the countertop with vigor. Buster was pissing me off. “When do you get off that task force? You’re getting paranoid.”
    “Think what you want. I know a smitten man when I see one.” Buster helped himself to a stale bagel from the morning Crawl meeting.
    I rinsed off my sponge and took a breath, letting the running water soothe me. Buster was miserable at his job right now. He’d asked to get off Homicide because he was dissatisfied only doing computer work on cold cases, but working the drug scene was souring him. I had to cut him some slack.
    I faced him. “Freddy is not the problem. You need sleep, and lots of it.”
    He nodded reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I’m just upset