Murder Beyond the Grave by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cornerstone Publishing

CHAPTER 6

BONNIE ROSE EARLY, fixed a three-course breakfast for Jim and the kids.

“It’s French themed,” she announced. “French toast, French roast, and—just to make sure you get enough carbs—French croissants.”

“I could really use that coffee,” Jim said. “I guess I’m not used to wine at altitude.”

“Help yourself,” Bonnie said.

She’d hoped for a picnic in the meadow, but the sky was overcast, so they sat in the dining room of what Rudy called the proprietor’s apartment: a five-room home set off in the main lodge. The kids were still in their pajamas, still blinking sleep from their eyes. Bonnie watched them lick syrup off their forks and felt as though she were watching a memory—the memory that would carry her through their long, five-day absence. Just a few more months to go, she reminded herself. Seventy-two days, to be exact, before they’d be living here instead of visiting.

After breakfast, Jim Jr. insisted on a round of Uno.

“Why don’t you kids get washed up and changed first?” Bonnie said. “I’ll meet you in the living room.”

Jim helped her clear the table, then said he was going out to grab some air.

“I’ve got a long drive ahead of me,” he said. “And I’m feeling a little fuzzy.”

“Better hurry,” Bonnie told him. “It’s going to start thundering any minute.”

An hour later, Bonnie and the children were sitting on the living room floor, arguing over whether Mindy had remembered to say Uno before her last discard, when Jim came rushing in, yelling Bonnie’s name.

“What is it?” Bonnie asked.

“You need to come see this,” he said. “Now. Kids, you stay here.”

She followed him through the lodge, asking again and again what was wrong. But as soon as they stepped outside, she saw. The windshield on her Jeep was smashed to bits. Someone had pegged it dead-center with an object large enough and hard enough to suck the whole sheet of glass inward.

“My god,” she said. “Who the hell …”

“It must have happened while I was out walking,” Jim said.

Bonnie stood at the edge of the porch, staring, her arms akimbo, her mouth wide open. She figured the fear would come later, once Jim was gone. Right now, she wanted to kill someone. Starting with that biker at the bar.

Jim walked over to the Jeep, opened the driver-side door, and pulled out a red brick wrapped in a pale-blue sheet of paper.

“Let me see that,” Bonnie said, running up to him. He handed it over without objecting. Bonnie tore off the rubber bands, let the brick drop to the ground as she straightened out the note.

It read: LAST WARNING, YOU RICH BITCH.

* * *

The thunder was short lived, though the rain lasted into the late afternoon. They sat by the bay window in the dining room and watched the storm while they played Chutes and Ladders, Monopoly, Go Fish. Jim was quiet and on edge, would snap at the children when they broke the rules or asked for a do-over. Bonnie chatted nonstop, laughed when nothing was funny, praised the kids for nothing in particular.

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