No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

wondering if you had heard from Basia lately.”
    Mrs. Kowalski must have been doing the dishes because I could hear her shut the water off in the background. “Basia? Well, let’s see, I spoke with her a few days ago. Is something wrong?”
    “Oh, no,” I hurriedly reassured her. “I just need to reach her right away and she’s not answering her phone or cell. I thought maybe she had mentioned to you that she had planned on going on an extended trip or something.”
    “Not to my knowledge. She might just be out with other friends. Unfortunately, Basia never keeps me abreast of her social life. I thought that was your department.”
    It was, but apparently I wasn’t doing a bang-up job of keeping on top of it. “Oh, well, I’m just trying to get in touch with her about something, ah, possibly related to work. Did she happen to mention anything new she was working on?”
    “Now that you mention it, she did say she had started a new project. Some new translations had apparently come her way. She did say it was in Polish for which she was glad since it could be done relatively quickly.”
    “Did she happen to say who the work came from?”
    “No, dear, she didn’t. I was more surprised that she’d recently started karate lessons.”
    My mouth fell open. “Karate?” I repeated, completely dumbfounded. Basia doing karate was about as feasible as the pope turning Protestant. She hated exercise and would drive her car to the 7-Eleven to avoid having to walk across the street. If the escalator was out of service at the mall, she refused to shop there. Something weird was definitely going on here.
    “Karate. Well, that’s news to me, too,” I said in the understatement of the year. Had I dropped off the face of the earth? Why hadn’t she informed me, her best friend, of all these shocking new developments?
    “Did she say where she was taking these karate lessons?” I asked.
    “No, she didn’t. Should I be worried?”
    “No, not at all,” I said hastily. “But if she happens to give you a call, will you tell her I’m trying to reach her?”
    “Of course, dear,” Mrs. Kowalski said, and I could hear a hint of worry creep into her voice. I hoped I hadn’t spooked her, but mothers had that second sense thing going, and I had a feeling I’d been nabbed.
    “Well, thanks, Mrs. K. I gotta go,” I said as cheerfully as I could fake and hung up.
    I stood and returned to my front door. I opened it and examined the jamb, but I couldn’t see any marks where Mr. Middle Eastern Guy must have broken in. Not even a scratch. He must be one heck of a burglar.
    I checked all the windows, but they were closed and latched from the inside. The balcony sliding glass door still had the piece of wood wedged into it that served as an extra lock. Honestly I didn’t think he had come in either via the windows or the balcony. But that meant he had easily picked both my lock and deadbolt. Sheesh. Wasn’t anyone safe these days?
    I really, really wanted to call the police. I’d been accosted by armed thugs twice in one day, which ranked high on my list of reasons to call the authorities. But if Mr. Middle Eastern Guy and Beefy were still watching me, they’d see the police car arrive. I remembered their threats and changed my mind. I needed to talk to Basia first. Besides, nothing had been stolen, and as far as I could tell, nothing major had been broken. The place was just an unholy mess.
    Sighing, I fastened the safety chain on the front door, wedging a chair beneath the doorknob for extra security. As soon as I got off work tomorrow, I was going to buy some mace and have an alarm system installed. No more surprise visitors. No more guns pointed at me. No more playing the victim.
    I retrieved the loaf of Sasha’s bread from the entranceway floor, brushed it off and carried it into the kitchen. I nuked a couple pieces in the microwave and slathered them with butter and jam. I’m really into comfort food and this seemed the