Moving Is Murder Read Online Free Page A

worn chairs spaced throughout, and a ratty earth-toned couch in front of a large TV.
    The bar was stocked and in full swing. I’d been surprised at the first barbeque I’d attended. What employer hands out beer in the middle of the day? To people flying multimillion-dollar aircraft, no less? Of course, if you were flying you weren’t supposed to be drinking. The whole atmosphere was part of that tradition of being a flyer—virility and masculinity personified. The mystique of doing a dangerous job and then partying hard, reinforced in movies like
Top Gun.
    Despite the increasing presence of females, the military is still a rather masculine profession, at least in the flying squadrons. The Hole was a case in point. The walls were covered with beer posters featuring bulging breasts and long legs. I wondered how much longer they would be able to get away with it before someone made them take the pictures down. Not much longer, I hoped.
    Various trophies covered the walls, ranging from the more normal baseball type to the rather risky “souvenirs” people brought home, such as beer mugs from bars, signs, and even rugs. This practice, also known in more crass terms as “stealing,” was now officially frowned on, but I thought new souvenirs probably showed up regularly.
    Cass’s voice broke into my thoughts. In her hot pink T-shirt and shorts she was a flash of color amid a crowd of olive drab. “It’s just a good thing I had to go to the store and I wasn’t going down Rim Rock Road like I usually do. I don’t know what I would have done.” I shivered when I pictured the steep curving road that hugged the escarpment of Black Rock Hill. Without brakes Cass would have been in serious trouble.
    I waved to Mitch across the room. He motioned that he would get our burgers, so I set the diaper bag and my purse in the pile of purses and backpacks by the door.
    “Vandalism.” Cass’s voice carried across the room as she replied to a question about what happened to her van. “The police say they’ve had some ‘incidents’ in our neighborhood.”
    I took a seat off to one side of the group surrounding Cass with another wife that I had seen at the spouse coffee, but hadn’t talked to, Friona Herrerras. I thought she might be lonely. She had dark chocolate hair smoothed back into a French twist, olive skin, and gorgeous dark eyes with thin arched brows. She was from New York and had moved to Vernon after her wedding to Senior Airman Herrerras. I introduced myself and asked, “So how do you like Vernon?”
    For an answer, she raised her shoulders in a languid shrug and took a drink of her Diet Sprite. She wasn’teating. Her sleek, sleeveless blue-green dress accented her thin figure and contrasted sharply with the dented folding chairs, frayed carpet, and crinkled beer posters. She looked like an exotic sea creature grounded on a beach. I could see her mentally counting the months until they were transferred. I recognized that look; I’d had it myself right after the first 5.0 earthquake rocked our California apartment. One good thing about the military: if you don’t like your assignment, you know you’ll move soon.
    She scratched a few red welts on her forearm. Her lips twisted in distaste as she explained. “Poison ivy. God, people out here are crazy. Everyone has to be outside. Hiking, yard work, rollerblading. It’s like they’re in love with the trees or something. What I wouldn’t give for a skyscraper.
    “A couple from the squad said, ‘Let’s get together.’ I’m thinking, like—you know—dinner, right? Wrong. We went on a
hike.”
From her tone, I could tell she thought hiking was as crazy as walking on hot coals. She set the Sprite can on her arm, covering the spots.
    Okay, she didn’t want to talk about the great outdoors, so I searched for another topic. “What do you do? Are you looking for a job?” Or going to school? She looked like she was about nineteen.
    She examined the strap on her