Fevered by T. J. MacGregor

Author:T. J. MacGregor [MacGregor, T.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Crime
Publisher: Crossroad Press

Aline looked down at Bernelli's lap, where she was carefully unwrapping a Big Mac with everything on it. The goop dripping and sliding from the bun was nauseating. "Are you really going to eat that?"

Bernelli licked at her fingers as she looked up. "Any reason I shouldn't?"

"Yeah. High sodium, high chemical and preservative content, and no telling what's in that disgusting stuff oozing out of it."

"God, Al, sometimes you're such a killjoy." She brought the bun to her mouth and bit into it, smacking her lips for effect. "Hmm. Delicious. Really. Want a bite?" She held it out, and several drops of goop plopped against the seat. "Oops." Bernie swiped at it with her napkin.

"I'll pass, thanks."

"A French fry, then, Al. McDonald's has terrific French fries."

The fries, jammed into a little container, glistened with grease and were so overcooked they looked like shriveled fingers. "No, thanks."

Bernie shrugged. "Suit yourself."

The smell of the burger and the greasy fries stank up the inside of the Buick the insurance company was paying for, but Aline kept her mouth shut and cracked the window. It had started to rain, and she could barely see the front of Louisa Almott's house now. Not that it mattered much. Nothing had changed in two hours, since Aline and Bernie had relieved the surveillance cop from vice who'd been watching the place since last night. Almott's van hadn't moved from the carport, and her mail was still sticking up out of her mailbox. The vice cop said she was definitely home, because he had followed her to the grocery store and back about an hour before Aline and Bernie had arrived. So what did a single schoolteacher at home alone on a Saturday afternoon do all this time? Grade papers? Clean the house? Rearrange furniture? Nap? Gab on the phone? What?

Plan murders, she thought.

She switched on the wipers; leaves and bits of twigs flew off with the water. They were parked under an overhang of branches in the park across the street from the schoolteacher's. Aline supposed she could see them as clearly as they could see her house, but doubted she would think much of it, since the Buick wasn't the only car in the lot. There were at least a dozen other vehicles that belonged to picnickers and joggers, all of whom had gotten rained out. Now these refugees huddled under the shelters or were closed up in their cars, waiting for the storm to pass.

"Bill and I are having dinner tonight," Bernie said, shoving the refuse from her meal into the McDonald's bag it had come in.

"Now that sounds like progress. But I thought Stratton was going to try a preliminary hypnosis tonight."

"We all still have to eat. Why don't you and Kincaid come up to the house too?"

"We'll cook, you guys clean."

"Sounds fair. I think he's interested, Al."

"I don't think he ever stopped being interested. He was just diverted for a while."

"It doesn't mean Molly's out of the picture, you know."

"Sounds to me like she's on her way out, though.

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