Trouble in a Big Box (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

bed in my underwear, more tired than I knew it was possible to be. You haven’t been up that long, I told myself, but it made no difference. My dirty dishes were still on the table, not even rinsed or soaking.
    Sleep didn’t come instantly as I thought it would. Instead my mind played with an older brown Mustang, slightly battered. Who would follow me? Why? The only thing I could think of was that it had to do with Mike’s accident. In spite of my bold assertion that I’d tell Conroy nothing, his words about a petty criminal driving the other car came back to haunt me. I’d have to talk to him tomorrow.
    ****
    I woke slowly, hearing distant sounds from the kitchen.
    “Maggie, do you really know how to scramble eggs?”
    “Yes, I do,” was the confident reply. “You get that tray and put a plate, silverware and napkin on it. Then pour a glass of orange juice.” A moment of silence and then, in a frustrated tone, “I wish I knew how to make coffee.”
    “Yuck! Who would want it?” Em asked.
    “Mom would,” Maggie said. “Maybe I can make a cup of instant, but I have to hurry before the eggs get cold. Cooking is very complicated, Em.”
    “If you’d let me help….” Em’s voice trailed off, and I envisioned a nearing squabble. I decided to lie in my bed and play possum.
    What I finally got was a tray presented with love and filled with spilled, lukewarm instant coffee that tasted like dishwater, stone cold eggs, and toast with butter and jam. Maggie had thoughtfully put the salt and pepper shakers on the tray and that helped the eggs. I sat up in bed and waxed enthusiastic over this treat, then forced it all down, in spite of the fact that I didn’t feel like eating at all and if I had, this wouldn’t have been my choice.
    “You girls are so wonderful,” I said, tousling Em’s hair.
    “Maggie did it all,” she said. “She says I’m too little to cook.”
    Maggie looked a bit repentant. “But I can teach you,” she said, putting an arm around her sister.
    “And I can let both of you cook with me more,” I said. “I can see you’re ready.”
    We bustled around and got ready for the day, although the girls insisted on changing clothes two or three times, each time claiming they were choosing their best clothes.
    “We have to look good for Mike, Mom,” Em explained.
    I understood the feeling.
    At the hospital, they hung back a bit, clinging to my pants until Mike, now much more alert, held out his good arm and said, “Come see me, girls. I miss you.”
    They flocked to his side, and a long discussion about his injuries ensued. “How long will you be here?” “When can you come home?” “When can you chase Gus with me again?” “I want you to grill hamburgers.” And best of all, “I’m scared when you’re not there at night.”
    No need to remind them that a year ago he hadn’t been there at night at all.
    “Your mom can take care of you,” he said, hugging them to him with one arm. “She will never let anything hurt you. And neither will I.”
    I finally pulled them away, amid protests and promises from Mike that they could come back in a day or two. We headed for school, where I would have to explain their tardiness. It wasn’t every day one’s stepfather—soon to be father by adoption—was nearly killed in a car accident. I thought that should excuse any tardiness. I blew a kiss to Mike and mouthed that I’d be back.
    After delivering the girls to school and securing the principal’s promise that this would be an excused tardiness, I ran by the office on my way to the hospital. Keisha greeted me with a black look.
    “Mike’s better,” I said cheerfully. “Much more like himself. Not groggy.”
    “Good. You notice that car parked across the street?”
    “Car? No.” I went to the door to look out, but a sharp word from Keisha drew me back. “Could you be a little less obvious?”
    I peeked through the slats of the blinds and saw a battered brown Mustang. My sharp