Bow Season (The Northwoods' Detectives Book 1) by Ryan Alexander

Author:Ryan Alexander [Alexander, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Driftwood Publishing House
Published: 2020-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Mike Lenard

I have grown to hate Sundays. When I was younger, they were filled with church, games, football, and fun. A needed nap might fill part of the afternoon. Hell, sometimes, I even drank a glass of lemonade just to put myself in a “Sunday kind of mood.” Nowadays, I went grocery shopping and watched the Green Bay Packers waste Aaron Rodgers’ career. Napping wasn’t worth my time because it just made me not sleep that night. And the only way I’d step in a church right now was for someone’s funeral. It wasn’t that I was anti-religion. I definitely believed in God. It was just some of his children had turned out to be assholes and a lot of them sat in pews on Sundays.

I was hoping to avoid grocery shopping today, but the inside of my fridge disagreed. It looked like a ghost town and smelled like an apocalypse. I made chili several days ago, and by days, I possibly meant weeks ago. I honestly couldn’t remember, and I didn’t think it went bad if you kept it in a Tupperware. But when I opened the lid last night, there was a layer of bluish and white mold covering what now smelled like regurgitated dog food. I dropped the bowl and a little spilled into the bottom of the fridge before it splattered on the kitchen floor. I mopped the floor but forgot about the escaped chili in the fridge until the smell smacked me in the face just now. The second look at my empty shelves made me chuckle. It looked like a small creature ate all my food and then took a shit before he left, just to stick it to me. That would have been about my luck.

My phone rang on the counter, and I muttered, “Son of a bitch,” on the way to pick it up. There wasn’t anyone I wanted to talk to on my day off. When I looked at the screen, I realized that I was wrong. There was one person in this world that I’d talk to at any time, day or night.

“Hello, Missy,” I answered.

“Hi, Daddy. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m doing alright. The real question is how are you doing?”

The pause that followed was long enough to tell me something was wrong but short enough for her to deny it. “Great. I’m doing great, Dad. I’ve just been super busy with school and stuff.” I immediately knew she was full of shit, but I also knew that the truth would come out easier if I didn’t try to force it.

“That’s good. Just keep plugging along, and it’ll be over before you know it,” I said.

Missy fake-chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll try to keep plugging along,” she said and another pause followed. I tried to break the silence.

“Well, what’s going on, Missy? I haven’t seen you in a while. At least, it seems like awhile. I’d much rather have you here with me like the old days. I could use a friendly face to come home to after a long day with Hippie Boy.

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