Dutch Me Deadly Read Online Free Page A

starting a movement to protest unfair treatment,” I joked as I came up behind him. “They’re actively recruiting mem bership if you’d like to apply.”
    He stared at me as though trying to figure out who I was and why I was talking to him.
    “I’m Emily.” I extended my hand in greeting. “I’m the official escort for the group at the back of the bus.”
    He was all angles and elbows, like a Disney version of Ichabod Crane, with stooped shoulders, a long face, and thinning gray hair. His lips were razor thin and looked as if they had never learned to smile. His eyes were small and guarded, like those of a man struggling to hide a lifetime of secrets behind them. He probably hadn’t turned seventy yet, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before he did.
    He regarded my hand dully before giving it an awkward shake.
    “We’re the Iowa contingent.” I smiled and waited for him to introduce himself.
    He narrowed his gaze and eyed me warily.
    Okay, so he was a little shy, but I was a whiz with shy people. “There are twelve of us from the little town of Windsor City, in the North-Central part of the state. Have you ever driven through Iowa?”
    “Why?”
    “No reason. Just … just asking.” My smile stiffened on my face. “Lots of corn in Iowa. Do you like corn?”
    “No.”
    “Lots of hogs, too.”
    He stared at me. “So?”
    “So it works out well if you’re partial to pork chops. Have you ever eaten an Iowa chop?”
    “No.”
    “Really? That’s a shame because they’re totally awesome.”
    “So?”
    I could feel my smile crack around the edges and slide off my mouth. There was only one way to deal with people who were this hard to talk to. “It’s been fun chatting with you. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” I waved my camera at him. “Would you like to be in my picture?”
    He scowled and turned away.
    Guess that was another no.
    As the group pushed forward, I lagged behind, feeling as deflated as a week-old birthday balloon. This was just great. I was traveling with Charlotte the Loon, Dietger the Lech, and Oscar the Grouch. I could hardly wait to interact with the other members of the group. If they all turned out to be as sour as Oscar, it might behoove me to dart in front of the windmill’s rotating blade right now so I could get knocked senseless. Being in a coma for the rest of the tour would probably ruin my holiday, but on the up side, the ongoing drama might give my guys something to text each other about while they camped out on the bus, ignoring all the sights.
    “That’s Pete Finnegan,” said a woman who stopped beside me on the sidewalk. She was a pretty platinum blonde with straight, shoulder-length hair, skin that had withstood the test of time, and blue eyes that snapped with good humor. “He was the valedictorian of our graduating class. Smart as a whip, but he was never big on conversation. A lot’s changed in fifty years. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him talking your ear off just now.”
    I stared at her in disbelief. “He only said a half-dozen words. Most of which were no.”
    “That’s pretty typical. He’s a Republican.” She offered me a warm smile. “I’m Mary Lou.” She tapped the name tag that was pinned to her jacket, drawing my attention to a photo of a teenaged Mary Lou O’Leary, a list of high school activities in which she’d obviously participated, and a name in larger print that read Mary Lou McManus. “It was my idea to design our name tags with our graduation pictures as well as our maiden and married names. I mean, we all know what we looked like five decades ago, but none of us look like that anymore. Except maybe Pete. I would have known him anywhere. Still skinny as a rail and looking like he’d be happy if everyone else in our graduating class would disappear.”
    “More like everyone in the world,” corrected a man who ambled up beside us. He draped his arm around Mary Lou’s shoulders and smiled pleasantly.