The Grilling Season Read Online Free PDF

emergency medical folks were establishing their territory. “Hey! I’m a doctor!” he called. “What’s going on?”
    The medics were already working and paid him no heed. From beside the ditch Tom issued instructions. When John Richard arrived at the side ofthe ditch and yelped at the sight there, Tom shook his head grimly.
    I pulled myself up, brushed the dirt off my clothes, and walked down the driveway. Neighbors were clustering on their porches. Three men walked purposefully toward the activity, as if they’d been appointed by the homeowners’ association to find out what was going on and therefore were above nosiness. Tom pointed to me, then swept his arm toward the approaching men.
Keep those guys away.
I picked up the pace.
    “Okay, folks,” I said to the men, “just stay back. Please … That man’s my husband and this is a medical emergency.”
    One of them, a bald, pinch-faced fellow whom I recognized as a minor dignitary from the Bank of Aspen Meadow, narrowed his eyes at the ditch. “That’s not your husband, that’s your ex—”
    “The ex and the current,” I replied sharply. “The current’s a cop and he has
asked
me to keep you all—”
    “What happened?” rasped another man. He was short and pudgy and sported a goatee that matched his gray sweatsuit. “Aren’t you … haven’t I seen you … aren’t you the town caterer?” He inhaled angrily. “I demand to know why that ambulance is here. Was there a break-in? I have children. Tell me what’s going on.” The third man, tan, white-mustached, wearing gardening clothes and a billed cap, nodded mutely.
    “You’ll find out soon enough,” I said, just a decibel higher than necessary.
    From the ditch John Richard squawked. Icouldn’t help it: I turned around. I couldn’t see Suz, but I saw the medics working to hook her up to some equipment. I knew the drill: Check for vital signs. In those horrible few moments they’d already sought her pulse. They’d looked into her eyes to see if the irises were fixed and dilated. The only problem I was having was in accepting the next step. A dull thump reverberated through the air.
Dammit.
They were trying to get her heart to beat. Once more the thump echoed through the morning stillness.
    Even though my view was partially blocked, I knew the next stage was for the paramedics to send telemetry down to a Denver hospital. An emergency-room doctor would make the declaration to stop trying to resuscitate.
    John Richard shrieked: “What the hell is that thing doing there?” He torqued his head around and stared at Suz’s house.
    One of the paramedics was holding something. The medic held it out to Tom, affording me a sideways view of it. He held a piece of jewelry, a thick, heavy gold bracelet.
    I stared, uncomprehending, at the bracelet, then felt my eyes being drawn to the naked spot on John Richard’s left wrist. My worries about personal bankruptcy seemed a century old. The street felt as if it were moving under my feet.
Steady, girl.
    “I don’t believe this!” John Richard yelled. “This is entrapment! This is a setup! Why won’t you talk to me?”
    The three bystanders I was trying to keep away from the ditch nudged urgently past me.
    “Hey!” I yelped. “You can’t go—”
    But by the time I caught up with them, they stood beside the ditch. Damn them. Tom could not stop the men from gaping at the medics and poor, wretched Suz; he was talking into his mobile phone. And what was I now hearing? No. Yes. Tom was reciting the Miranda rights to John Richard Korman.
    “Stop this,” John Richard protested loudly as Tom’s caution continued. “You have no idea what you’re doing! Suz had … She … AstuteCare had more … enemies … than I have patients. She was into more—”
    I could not believe my ears. This was so fast … too fast. What had John Richard said or done? He and Suz had “mixed it up.” And the ID bracelet—where had the medics found it? Were John