Bleeding Out by Baxter Clare

Author:Baxter Clare [Clare, Baxter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Detective and Mystery Fiction, Lesbian, Noir, Hard-Boiled
ISBN: 9781594931147
Google: gAxvQgAACAAJ
Amazon: 1594931143
Barnesnoble: 1594931143
Goodreads: 2802120
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2000-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

20

Everyday, in milliseconds, people make decisions that put them on specific paths with destiny. Some are good decisions, like taking the stairs instead of the elevator only to find later that the power went out just as you walked out of the building, or choosing tuna salad at lunch and watching all your co-workers who ate the egg salad get salmonella poisoning. Some decisions don’t have such good outcomes, like taking the freeway instead of the interstate and hitting gridlock that makes you miss an important meeting. Or doing something seemingly trivial that creates a fatal domino effect, like Frank did when she spitefully ignored the half-and-half on the grocery list.

Mag and Frank had been lucky enough to work the same shift that day. They’d gotten off late, as usual, but Mag had been done earlier than Frank. On the drive home she’d asked Frank to run into the liquor store for a pint of half-and-half for Angie.

Angie was Mag’s best friend from high school. A pilot with American Airlines, sometimes Angie stayed with them for a night or two on a layover. She and Mag would be up till the early morning, laughing and catching up on news from home while Frank fumed in bed. Despite the fact that Mag clearly adored Frank, and that Angie was happily married with two kids, Frank always felt second best when the two friends were together.

Angie was so much like Mag—outgoing, vibrant, adventuresome —all the things Frank wasn’t, and she had convinced herself that sooner or later Mag and Angie would end up together. Frank would sulk jealously throughout Angie’s visits. If Mag couldn’t tease Frank out of her sullenness, she’d just ignore her. She’d explained often enough that Angie was like caviar and champagne, but Frank was pot roast and mashed potatoes. Her friend was extravagant and funny; Frank was daily life with all its stable, reliable comforts and pleasures.

Smacking Frank’s thigh, Mag had double-parked in front of the liquor store. Trying to humor Frank out of her funk, she’d teased, “Come on, old pot roast.”

But Frank had whined, “Why can’t she just use milk in her coffee?” and slouched further in her seat.

“Because she likes half-and-half. And I had it on the list yesterday, so don’t give me any crap.”

Frank had retorted, “She’s not even here yet and you’re already fawning all over her.”

Sighing patiently, Maggie pointed out, “One, I’m not fawning. Two, if you could read a simple grocery list, this wouldn’t be a problem. Come on, honey, I’m double-parked here.”

“She’s your friend,” Frank muttered sullenly. “You go get it.”

Seeing Frank was serious, Maggie had grabbed her purse, swearing, “Goddammit, Frank! When are you going to grow up?”

She’d slammed out of the car leaving Frank churlish but unrepentant. She was still hunkered in her seat, building an even bigger case against Angie, when she’d heard a boom and saw a kid running out of the liquor store. He’d run right by the car, toting a sawed-off. Frank had bolted after him and caught him almost immediately.

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