Dead Men Don't Talk by H. B. Rae

Author:H. B. Rae [Rae, H. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, International Mystery & Crime, Thrillers & Suspense, Crime, Financial, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), Thrillers
Amazon: B00R6E2UPG
Publisher: Dee Baba Publications
Published: 2014-12-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

The local news channel was focusing on the two random murders that had recently occurred. Joan Blake, well known for her humor and cut throat investigative journalism, was on air, bashing and accusing the police for their flimsy investigations. As Jenna watched the news, she felt as if her world was crumbling around her, even though she knew no evidence would be found linking her to the murders. Her boss had once told her, when she asked about the contents of the syringe, that it left no traces that could lead to her. She flipped through the channels, but most of the local channels were discussing the murders. Jenna sighed. She didn’t want to hear more about the murders.

She dropped her head back on the pillow, and flipped to CNN. There was nothing new for them to say. It was Saturday evening now, and the killer may have been found. If Mike can disappear, then the police will never want to look deeper into the case. They assume they already have the killer.

There was a knock on the door. She glanced up. She knew Rick had just arrived. Jenna rushed to the door and opened it. Rick was standing there, holding a bottle of wine and he was smiling.

“Come in.” She showed him in.

“Now will you tell me what happened? Why is Mike suspecting you?”

She walked to the kitchen; he followed her. He knew his way around the kitchen. He removed the chopping board and placed it on the kitchen table. Rick was my accomplice or partner, he taught me all I knew in this business, Jenna thought. He was my mentor, my boss, and my lover from time to time. It was never serious but he was an awesome lay.

“Can I ask you a question?” he began as he diced the juicy potatoes. “What’s your favorite dish?”

“Grilled meat,” she responded immediately and her mouth watered at the thought of the char grilled meat.

“You wouldn’t want to eat grilled meat every single day, would you?”

“Of course not,” she replied, while shredding the fresh ginger into the small bowl he had given her.

“Why not?” he continued. His eyes were still on the tomatoes.

“Well, I suppose if I eat it on a daily basis, then it wouldn’t be special. I’d get tired of it. All good things are good in moderation, don’t you agree?”

“Yes I do,” he replied emphatically. “And you’ve just brought me around to a very important point.

“Which is?”

“Monogamy is like food. If you eat the same meal every day, you get tired of it. Variety is the spice of life. It seems you like it.”

“Well,” she paused, picking her words more carefully. “I thought we were talking about grilled meat. I never realized that my response was going to be taken out of context.”

She raised her eyebrows and waited for him to continue.

“You do understand what I’m trying to say? Whether you eat the food or love the same person, you always get tired of it. It becomes too familiar and too predictable and boring.

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