The mummy case Read Online Free PDF Page A

glass back down. Perhaps a little too loudly. Our waitress picked that moment to come by, asked if we were ready to order. I shook my head and said no, keeping my eyes on Cindy.
    When the waitress was gone, Cindy said, “Jim, you promised you would quit.”
    “ I quit for nearly three months. A record for me.”
    “ So what happened?”
    “ Turns out the more I look into my mother’s murder, the more I want to drink.”
    Her mouth was tight. She kept her hands still on the table. She took a deep breath, looked down at her hands. She was thinking, coming to some sort of decision. “And you said you haven’t been drinking as much as before.”
    “ That’s true.”
    “ At least that’s something.”
    “ Yes.”
    “ And you have been able to control the drinking?”
    “ More so than before.”
    “ Do you need help?”
    “ Probably.”
    “ But you don’t want it.”
    “ Not yet.”
    The waitress came by again. This time she saw us talking and didn’t bother to stop.
    “ You have a problem,” Cindy said.
    “ I know.”
    “ How long have you been drinking?”
    “ A few weeks now.”
    “ Thank you for telling me.”
    I shrugged. “Should have told you sooner.”
    “ But you told me. I know it’s not easy. I don’t want you to hide it from me.”
    “ It’s not something I’m proud of.”
    “ I know. So what are you going to do about it?”
    “ For now, nothing.”
    “ So you’ll keep drinking?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ But not as much?” she asked.
    “ No, not as much.”
    She thought about that for nearly a minute. “Maybe that’s all we can ask,” she finally said, then added, “at least while you are looking into your mother’s murder.”
    “ Yes,” I said.
    The waitress came by again, and I waved her over. She looked relieved. She took our orders with a smile. I ordered a burger and a Diet Coke.
    “ Did you want to order a beer?” asked Cindy when the waitress left.
    “ Yes,” I said.
    “ But you didn’t.”
    “ No, not this time.”
    Cindy took my hands and held them in hers. “I love you, you big oaf.”
    “ Yes, I know,” I said.
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
     
    The morning sun was shining at an angle through the window behind me. My feet were up on the corner of my antique desk, careful of the gold-tooled leather top. I was reading from my football scrapbook, which dated back to my high school years. The binder was thick and battered, filled with hundreds of yellowed newspaper clippings. I read some of the articles, sometimes even blushing. People can say the nicest things. I was a different man back then. Of course, I had been nothing more than a kid, but I could see it in my eyes in some of the pictures. I was arrogant, smug, and cocky. Football came easy to me. Grades came easy. Girls came easy. Life was good, one long party in those days. No wonder I missed those days to some degree. Now I’ve come to realize that there is more to life than football, and it has been a hard lesson to learn. In fact, I’m still learning it, every day.
    As usual, I closed the scrapbook just before I got to the last game of my senior season at UCLA. I knew all too well what happened in the last game. I had a grim reminder of it every time I stood.
    Outside the sky was clear, a balmy sixty-four, according to my internet weather ticker. Southern California’s version of a crisp fall day. Brrr.
    I put the scrapbook back in the desk’s bottom drawer, within easy reach for next time. I next brought up the internet and went immediately to eBay, and saw that my signature was now selling for two dollars and twenty-five cents. I put in a bid for two-fifty. Next I checked my email and saw one from Cindy. In it, she described in jaw-dropping detail what she was wearing beneath her pantsuit. I flagged the message for later reference.
    Two hours later, when I was done goofing around on the internet, I was ready for real work. In the Yahoo search engine I typed “Sylvester the Mummy” and up popped a