Read to Death Read Online Free PDF

grabbed me by both arms and stared into my eyes. “Are you all right? Where’s Bridgy? Who’s hurt? When we heard the address . . .”
    Behind him, Lieutenant Frank Anthony was speaking into his shoulder radio. I didn’t know if I should wait to tell them both at once. Past experience had taught me that the lieutenant was a stickler for getting information exactly as he wanted it.
    â€œIt’s Oscar Frieland, the van driver. He drove a group of us to the Edison and Ford Winter Estates. He’s in there.” I pointed to the van. “And he’s dead.”
    Ryan immediately moved toward the van until I continued. “He’s been murdered.”
    That stopped him. “How could you possibly . . . ? Never mind.” He climbed into the van and came right out again. He leaned past me. “Loo, we got a homicide.”
    Ryan and Frank locked eyes and did that telepathic thing they do. Ryan took me by the arm and began steering me to the front door of the Read ’Em and Eat. “Sassy, it’s going to be a long day. Why don’t we go inside for a glass of sweet tea and a piece of buttermilk pie?”
    We hadn’t quite reached the door when it opened and Miguel came out. He sensed trouble immediately. “
¡Dios mío!
What is wrong? Are you hurt? Where is Bridgy?”
    I was too frazzled to answer. Ryan said, “Oscar had an, er, accident. Sassy is fine.” Then he looked at me. “If she’s not with Miguel and she’s not with you, where
is
Bridgy?”
    I head-butted toward the Treasure Trove. “She’s with Ophie.” No point in getting into anything else for the moment. All I wanted was to sit down and have a drink. I thought wine would be nice. Fat chance.
    As we walked in, the chatter from the book corner ceased instantly. I wondered if I looked bad enough to stun the clubbies or if they picked up on how solicitous Ryan was being. Whichever, their curiosity was piqued. Ryan led me to the Emily Dickinson table and pulled out a chair. Grateful, I sat, or rather, buckled onto the chair. He leaned in and asked if he could get me anything. If it wasn’t for Oscar’s murder I would have thought the scene comical. Here was Ryan offering to serve me in my own café.
    Miguel told the clubbies there had been a slight mishap and they were free to conduct their meeting without me, or they could go home and we could reschedule. A couple of the members glanced my way, but when they saw no obvious signs of injury, the ladies started talking among themselves.
    Ryan, who had followed Miguel across the room, straightened to his tallest. “Excuse me . . . did you ladies all go on the trip to the Edison and Ford estates?”
    â€œIt was a book club field trip. We always have one before the snowbirds go home. We were all there. Together. What’s your point? Did that Ivy person complain about us? I’d have to say we were better mannered than she was.” Augusta stood up and rested her hands on the rope belt that held up her ancient jeans, ready to take on Ivy in any argument.
    Ryan raised his hands defensively. “Miss Augusta, I don’t know anything about how your trip went, and I don’t know anyone named Ivy.”
    Augusta sat down and flashed a small but triumphant smile.
    Ryan continued. “There’s been a problem, so I am going to need you to stay here for a while.”
    â€œProblem? What sort of problem and how long? I have a hair appointment.” Angeline fluffed her salt-and-pepper curls. “I certainly don’t want to spend the rest of the week looking like this. Do you know how hard it is to reschedule an appointment with Nancy over at Creative Hair? She is always booked solid.”
    Ryan deflated slightly. Even watching him from behind I could see that the gentleman in him wanted to tell her she looked lovely, but the deputy wrestled for control and won.