Sandra Hill - [Jinx] Read Online Free PDF

That room and the kitchen were clean, with nothing removed, as far as she remembered.
    She could see her grandfather out on the deck with Flossie, his live-in girlfriend. A wide expanse of beach extended from the deck to the ocean, and seagulls squawked as they swooped down for food.
    Frank and Flossie sat at a large, round patio table with an unfurled center umbrella. Polka music played loudly on a tape deck; her grandfather did love a good accordion. Flossie, who was fiftysomething, resembled an aging stripper, which she could have been, given Frank’s habits. But actually, she’d been a Las Vegas showgirl. Even though Veronica had been only seven at the time, she could still remember the uproar when fifty-year-old Frank took up with thirtysomething Flossie. Lillian hated Flossie almost as much as she did Frank.
    To say that Flossie was well-endowed would be a colossal understatement—another reason for thin-as-a-rail Lillian to hate her “replacement.” This morning Flossie wore tight black jeans, a revealing red tank top edged with sequins, and red high-heeled slides. The woman had more than twenty years on Veronica, but Flossie had a better figure. Her blonde hair, dyed of course, sported the biggest metal rollers Veronica had ever seen, possibly empty soup cans.
    Her grandfather was a big man, at least six foot three and burly, like the mountain men in old westerns. Needless to say, he had scared her a little when she was a child. He was reading the morning newspaper, a burning cigar in one hand and a glass of some amber-colored beverage in front of him. Probably bourbon.
Booze before noon? No wonder he has money problems.
He wore denim shorts, which were full of holes; a threadbare, once-yellow T-shirt; and his trademark suspenders—he had more than Larry King, he sometimes bragged. They were Mickey Mouse ones today. The canvas shoes on his feet were so worn, they were more sole than anything else. He was usually rather vain about his appearance, but today he was unshaven, and his white hair stood out like Don King’s. He’d always been a handsome man. Now he looked like Nick Nolte’s mug shot.
    She could have sworn they’d noticed her approach, but maybe not because Flossie was arguing with him about eating his breakfast.
    “I don’t want any of that frickin’ egg shit,” he said. Not bothering to peer up from the paper, he blew enough smoke into the air to make Flossie choke.
    Waving her hand in front of her face, Flossie said, “It’s not egg shit, darling. It’s eggs benedict. I got the recipe from Vivian over at the Nail You manicure shop.”
    Veronica glanced at Flossie’s hands. Yep, she still had those inch-long sculptured nails, painted bright red today and matching her shirt.
    “Pfff! That doesn’t look like any eggs benedict I ever saw. It’s green, fer chrissake!”
    “It’s jalapenos in the sauce—Mexican eggs benedict.” Flossie smacked him on the shoulder. “Eat the eggs, dammit.”
    “I can eat shredded wheat, like always. Why are you wastin’ money on this other food?”
    Eggs are expensive? Since when? Oh. He really does have financial problems, then.
    He slammed the paper down, took a huge slug of bourbon, and shook his head. On an empty stomach, it must hit like five hundred proof.
    With a frown of disapproval, Flossie began to gather up the dishes, then for the first time noticed Veronica near the open French doors. “Ronnie!” Flossie exclaimed, giving Frank a strange, warning glower. Then she set the dishes down and came over to give her a hug. Veronica and Flossie were both about five-nine, but with the high heels, Flossie towered over her. She wore so much Shalimar perfume, it wiped the scent of salt water from Veronica’s nose.
    Flossie rolled her eyes meaningfully at Frank and then at her. Except Veronica wasn’t sure what message she was being given.
    “Frank.” Veronica walked over and stared down at her grandfather.
Should I hug him? No! He would probably