An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella Read Online Free

beginning of their
friendship also heralded her sobriety from drugs and alcohol. And,
like many of her adventures in the bad old days, it began in a biker
dive and ended in a police station.
    Those times were behind her, yet always a part of
her. The Program had taught her not to dwell nor shut the door on the
past. Embrace the lessons. Remember.
    She reached for the doorknob with her left hand,
noticing as she always did the faint white scar along the vein that
stretched from her wrist to the crook of her arm. Needle marks.
Tracks of a right-handed junkie. She'd forever remember that.
    " It doesn't look like I woke you," St. John
said. He reached for her elbow and held it. This close, even at a
stooped five feet ten inches, he towered over her own five feet. She
looked into his face. The bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced.
He had nicked himself shaving and completely missed a small triangle
of whiskers on his chin.
    " What's wrong?" she asked.
    " I don't have all the details," he said.
"It's Rico, honey."
    She wanted him to stop right there, to give her
another few seconds of happiness before he delivered his news.
    " I'm sorry," St. John said. "I got the
call this morning."
    Munch fought the urge to shut the door in his face.
    He still held her arm. "The details are
sketchy."
    " Wait," she said, but he didn't hear her.
Maybe she hadn't spoken out loud.
    " Honey," St. John said, "Rico is
dead."
    Something went click inside her. Maybe it was her
light switch turning off. She wondered if her heart had stopped, that
would explain the sharp pain. No .
She tried to say the word out loud, but it wouldn't come. She twisted
out of St. John's grip and left him standing at the door.
    This couldn't be right. She and Rico were in love.
They were going to get married. That was the plan. Happily ever
after, just like the movies.
    The throw blanket on the couch was askew. That was
all wrong, too. She shook it out and refolded it; her hands jerked at
the task, but she couldn't slow them down.
    Asia would have to be told. Munch would hold her out
of school today. She'd have to call Lou, her boss at the Texaco
station, and explain—
    " Munch?" St. John's voice.
    She scooted the couch closer to the wall, the lamp on
the end table wobbled. St. John caught it before it fell.
    " I have to do things," she said.
    " Let me help; what do you need?"
    " I don't know. I can't think. Wait. I told you
to wait." She wanted to hit his face, scratch his eyes out, make
him bleed.
    He tried to grab her arm again, but she pulled back.
"Waiting won't change the facts," he said.
    " God forbid we change any facts." She heard
the hysterical lilt to her voice, but didn't seem to have any control
over volume or tone. Focus, she thought. Deep breath. God, it hurt to
breathe.
    St. John patted the couch. "Here, sit."
    " I can't." There were details to see to.
The realtor would have to be called. She'd withdraw the offer on the
new house, stay where she could afford the payments alone.
    Alone. The word had an echo to it. And why was she
thinking about money now? What kind of a cold-blooded monster was
she? She didn't need to ask St. John if he was sure. He wouldn't be
here otherwise. When, how, why? None of that was important either,
but he was probably expecting her to ask.
    Why would she need to know any of the details? None
of those answers would change the fact that Rico was gone, forever.
An image of Rico smiling at her floated before her eyes. It was
something she would never see again except in her dreams.
    Maybe if she went back to sleep? You're not making
sense, she scolded herself.
    " Oh, God, please." She heard the words as
she spoke them. She didn't recognize her voice, it was too high,
almost otherworldly. Her neck ached, her throat, her chest, but the
tears wouldn't release. Tears would help. She"d read that
somewhere.
    St. John followed her around the room. She fended him
off with outstretched hands. She should never have answered the door.
    "