Running on Empty Read Online Free PDF

taken kindly to Chuck's breaking their line of ascent to
     the throne.
    'I have to tell Kathleen,' Chuck continued.
    Kathleen was Rance's wife. She had been a classmate of BobbyBradenham, which made
     her a year older than AnnaLise and fifteen years younger than Rance. Plenty young
     enough not to have seen past the police uniform to the mean drunk that lay beneath.
    'She'll be devastated,' AnnaLise said. And the new widow would be. Kathleen Smoaks
     was a good woman who had the misfortune of falling in love with a bad man. A shame
     — especially since AnnaLise knew Bobby had asked Kathleen to marry him just out of
     high school. If only she'd accepted, life could have been so different for both of
     them.
    Not that AnnaLise was exactly a poster child for wise choices.
    She gestured toward the blue tarpaulin that was being used to shield the body from
     onlookers. 'He was plastered as usual, I assume?'
    'Probably. We'll know more when the lab work comes back.' Chuck put his hat on, squared
     it over his forehead. 'You'd think people, at least our locals, would learn to stay
     away from the lake when they're drinking. Especially someone as experienced as Rance.'
    'Chief.' A voice rang out from the waterline. 'We got us an entrance wound.'
    'Damn it all.' Chuck swung away and then turned back to AnnaLise. 'I need to talk
     to you.' A glance toward the tarpaulin. 'When we both have some time.'
    A chill ran up AnnaLise's spine. Something to do with Daisy? Maybe the idea of an
     arrest warrant was no far-fetched fantasy.
    'I'll be here through Labor Day,' she said. 'Is this...'
    But Chuck was already moving away. 'Good. If I don't see you tonight at Sal's, I'll
     call you tomorrow.'
    'OK, but...' AnnaLise realized she might as well be talking to the wind. All attention
     was focused on the body.
    AnnaLise turned toward Mama's, waiting for a white Mercedes-Benz to dawdle past, the
     driver rubbernecking the commotion on the beach.
    An 'entrance wound' meant that Rance Smoaks had been shot. During hunting season,
     accidental shootings weren't all that unusual. But deer season didn't commence until
     the day after Labor Day, meaning three days from now. And even then, only bow-and-arrow,
     not rifle, was permitted.
    A tap of the Mercedes' horn.
    'AnnaLise,' Mrs. B's voice called from the driver's window. 'Pay attention, please.
     I have been waving you on for eons.'
    An exaggeration, yes, but an explanation seemed in order to appease the woman. 'I'm
     sorry. I was thinking about this — ' she waved back at the beach vaguely, knowing
     she shouldn't name the victim until after the family had been notified — 'incident.'
    'Another drowning,' Mrs. B said, shaking her head. 'And, likely, another newspaper
     editorial tomorrow, calling for fencing off portions of the lake. Whatever happened
     to personal responsibility, I want to know.'
    'In this case, it doesn't appear to be the victim's fault. He was shot.'
    'Certainly not on purpose?' The way Ema Bradenham said it made it clear that such
     a thing wouldn't be tolerated in her tidy world.
    Which, of course, made AnnaLise want to muddy it up more. She moved closer to the
     car, confidingly. 'I don't see how it could possibly be an accident. After all, deer
     season doesn't start until Tuesday, and as for gun―'
    'Please,' Mrs. B interrupted with a shiver. 'I know they are held sacred up here,
     but firearms lost their fascination for me a very long time ago. When Bobby took up
     deer hunting last year, I was just filled with trepidation. The whole idea is just
     so... déclassé.'
    'My mother doesn't like hunting either,' AnnaLise said, seeking common, yet not too
     'common', ground. 'My father's deer rifles are locked in a cabinet, and I don't think
     they've been touched since the day he died.'
    'Exactly where they belong. The thought of hunting one of those beautiful creatures
     to hang its poor head on a wall...' She shook her own head, as if words failed her.
    Apparently it had