Roll Over and Play Dead by Gail Oust

Author:Gail Oust
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Mysteries & Thrillers
Publisher: Beyond the Page
Published: 2015-09-23T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

I’d eaten my margherita pizza in blissful solitude. I’d invited Krystal to join me, but she wanted to read her scene a final time before the audition. She’d vanished into her room with the script in one hand, a sleeve of soda crackers in the other. I’d no sooner put the last of the dinner dishes in the dishwasher than the phone rang.

“Kate, it’s for you,” Krystal yelled from down the hall after picking up the extension. “Some woman wants to sell you something. Want me to tell her you’re not home?”

The thought was tempting. Ever since I’d written a check to the college alumni association, they’d been pestering me for another on a daily basis. They’d zeroed in on the most inopportune times: dinnertime, nap time, bathroom time. Patience, I reminded myself. The caller was likely some hapless student trying to earn beer money.

“I’ll take it.” I sighed the sigh of the martyred, ready to be polite but firm as I picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Mother, is that you?”

“Yes, dear, whom did you expect?” My daughter, Jennifer, lives in California. Not just California, mind you, but Brentwood, home to stars and celebs. She lives there with her husband and former nerd, Jason Jarrod. Jason discovered contacts and Armani shortly after certain powers-that-be discovered he could forge a contract more binding than cheddar cheese in a nursing home. Jen and Jason, along with my two adorable granddaughters, Juliette and Jillian—the Four Jays, as I call them—lead a charmed life. At least, they do if listening to Jennifer is any indication.

“You sound strange, Mother. Who answered the phone, one of your gambling buddies?”

I’ve tried, but without success, to explain bunco to my daughter. She equates a simple dice game with a den of iniquity involving high-stakes gambling. She fears I’ll lose my retirement pension and end up on the street as a bag lady. “No, sweetheart. It was Krystal, my houseguest.”

“I don’t remember your having any friends named Krystal. Do I know her? What’s her last name?”

Jen was firing more questions than I had the time—or inclination—to answer. “Krystal is someone I’ve recently met. She’s staying with me temporarily until she gets back on her feet.”

“Feet? What’s wrong with her feet? Is the woman crippled?”

Even as a child, Jen had an overactive imagination. Her close proximity to Hollywood seems to have aggravated the condition.

“There’s nothing wrong with Krystal’s feet, dear. It was only a figure of speech.” I lowered my voice, not wanting Krystal to overhear. “The young woman’s been having a run of bad luck. I asked her to stay with me while her car is being repaired and until she earns enough money for a fresh start in Myrtle Beach.”

“I can’t believe you invited a perfect stranger into your home.”

I chuckled. “Trust me, Jen, Krystal’s far from ‘perfect.’”

“You know what I mean, Mother. This woman could turn out to be a serial killer, preying on elderly women.”

“I thought we agreed the term ‘elderly’ doesn’t apply when you’re talking about me,” I reminded her sternly.

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