Murder Is Uncooperative Read Online Free PDF

This woman made my own body—which I had considered slim, fit and not un-sexy up to that moment—look boyish and angular. I also felt huge, which was an unfamiliar experience.
    I gave myself a mental shake and smiled a greeting at her.
    â€œBec, this is Cara,” Dave was saying. “Cara, Rebecca's my ex. She just moved into this building.”
    Cara shook my hand, smiling prettily. “What a coincidence, you moving into my building. Dave's mentioned you, and he's certainly told me all about your big boy here.” She smiled at Ben, who ignored her. I guess her charms only worked on men once they reached puberty.
    â€œBen, say hello to Cara. She works with Daddy.”
    I thought I saw a look of surprise on Cara's face, but I was focused on my son. Ben usually had pretty good manners. My father had taught him to shake hands, much to the amusement of some of his friends. But today he just muttered, “Hello,” over his shoulder and went back to raking leaves again.
    Calling to his father to watch him, he took his small rake and industriously raked the pile back together quickly.
    â€œThis is Mariana, one of our new neighbors,” I told Dave. “I guess you already know her.” I said to Cara.
    â€œOh, yes, I know Mariana,” she said. I thought she started to frown, but then she dimpled again and waggled her fingers at her. “Hi. Sorry, I couldn't join the work party but, as you see, I had plans. Glad you've got some help.” She glanced across the lawn at the rusty motor home and then looked back at Mariana. “Why is that thing still here?” she asked, looking at the vehicle with distaste.
    Mariana shrugged. Dry leaves were starting to pile on the roof of the vehicle, making it look like it was going to turn into compost, not drive away. “It's not supposed to be there. It's too big to park on the street. I guess Les will deal with it on Monday, if it's still there,” she said.
    â€œHow long have you been at the Sun?'” I asked Cara, referring to the paper where Dave worked. “You must have started after I left.”
    I thought she was taking a long time to answer a straightforward question, but we were interrupted by Ben.
    â€œMommy, Daddy, you can jump now. I raked the leaves up again. I did a really good job!”
    â€œI can see that. But we should get on our way,” Dave said. “See ya, Bec. Goodbye, my man,” he said, bending down to Ben's height. “We'll do something real cool next weekend, I promise.”
    â€œOkay, Daddy,” he whispered, looking down. He went back to his raking.
    â€œUmm . . . He was supposed to have Ben this weekend,” I explained to Mariana, “but he has to work.”
    We went back to raking, but the mood was spoiled. We started to bag the leaves for the compost bins behind the building.
    Dave and Cara headed to the black sports car he had bought when we split up. Ben chose that moment to burst into tears, and I bent to comfort him. Looking over his head, I noticed that Dave was rolling a bright pink suitcase with hard, shiny sides.
    Dave might have been heading out of town to cover a tournament or an away game of a local hockey or football team. And maybe the paper would send two reporters, but it seemed unlikely. I suspected that Dave wasn't working at all this weekend.
    We were divorced, and what Dave did didn't matter to me. But I would be angry if I found he was missing out on time with his son to spend the weekend with a woman.
    Dave loaded the pink suitcase into the trunk and helped Cara into the car with care he had never shown me, even when we were first dating.
    I leaned over to give my son a hug and didn't see Dave drive off. But I did hear the door of the motorhome slam back with a loud crash. I looked up to see a large man climbing down from inside and rushing towards us.
    â€œGuess you didn't know I could hear you and that other bitch talking about my motorhome,