R Is for Ricochet Read Online Free PDF Page B

ice bucket, and an impressive row of wine and liquor bottles.
    "How many are you expecting?"
    "Twenty-five or so. This is strictly last minute so a lot of people couldn't make it."
    "I'll bet."
    "I'm still off the booze because of Twinkletoes here."
    The baby, Meg, was strapped in an infant seat in the middle of the kitchen table, looking around with a vague expression of satisfaction. Peter, aged twenty-one months, had been secured in a high chair. His tray was littered with Cheerios and green peas that he captured and ate when he wasn't squishing them instead.
    Vera said, "That's not his dinner. It's just to keep him occupied until the babysitter shows. Speaking of which, Dirk can fix you a drink while I take Peter upstairs." She removed the tray from the high chair and set it aside, then lifted the boy and set him on one hip. "I'll be back shortly. If Meg cries, it's probably because she wants to be picked up."
    Vera disappeared down the hall with Peter, heading for the stairs.
    Dirk said, "What can I get for you?"
    "Chardonnay's fine. I'd appreciate that."
    I watched while he removed a bottle of Chardonnay from an ice tub behind him. He poured me a glass and added a cocktail napkin as he passed the wine across the makeshift bar.
    "Thanks."
    Vera had set out Brie and thinly sliced French bread, bowls of nuts and green olives. I ate one, being careful not to crack my teeth on the pit. I was curious to tour the rest of the downstairs rooms, but I didn't dare leave Meg. I had no idea what a baby her age was capable of doing while strapped in an infant seat. Could they hop in those things? One end of the kitchen had been furnished with two sofas upholstered in a floral fabric, two coordinating chairs, a coffee table, and a television set built into an entertainment center that ran along the wall. Wineglass in hand, I circled the periphery, idly studying the silver-framed photos of family and friends. I couldn't help wondering if one of the fellows pictured was Neil's brother, Owen. I imagined him, like Neil, on the short side and probably dark-haired as well.
    Behind me, Meg made a restless sound of the sort that suggested more to follow at twice the volume. I tended to my responsibilities, setting down my wineglass so I could free the child from her infant seat. I picked her up, so unprepared for how light she was I nearly flung her through the air. Her hair was dark and fine, her eyes a bright blue with lashes as delicate as feathers. She smelled like baby powder and maybe something fresh and brown in her pants. Amazingly, after staring at me briefly, she laid her face against my shoulder and began to gnaw on her fist. She squirmed and the little oinking sounds she made hinted at feeding urges I hoped wouldn't erupt before her mother returned. I jiggled her a bit and that seemed to satisfy her temporarily.
    I had now exhausted my vast fund of infant-care tricks. I heard a manly trampling outside on the wooden deck. Neil opened the back door bearing a grocery sack bulky with disposable diapers. The guy who came in behind him carried two six-packs of bottled beer. Neil and I exchanged greetings and then he turned to his brother and said, "Kinsey Millhone. This is my brother, Owen."
    I said, "Hi." The babe in my arms precluded anything in the way of handshakes.
    He responded with hey-how-are-you – type things, talking over his shoulder while he delivered the beer into Dirk's capable hands. Neil set the sack on a kitchen stool and removed the package of disposable diapers. "Let me run these on up. You want me to take her?" he asked, indicating Meg.
    "This is fine," I said, and surprisingly, it was. After Neil left, I peered down at her and discovered that she'd gone to asleep. "Oh, wow," I said, scarcely daring to breathe. I couldn't tell if the ticking I heard was my biological clock or the delayed timing device on a bomb.
    Dirk was in the process of making a margarita for Owen, ice clattering in the blender. With his