Killer Riff Read Online Free

anxiety. What was I going to say? How was I going to start? Was it going to look as if I were calling today because of the new job? How many wrong ways could he take that? Confronting those questions made my stomach flip again, so I dialed Cassady instead.
    “It’s about damn time,” was her response to my news. Cassady’s a lawyer, and I always appreciate her incisive take on things.
    “The job or the call from Ben?”
    “Both. Your stars are aligning, sweetheart, and you better take advantage.”
    “I know, but I can’t exactly call Kyle and say, ‘Just wanted to let you know I got the job you were dreading when we were together. Wanna come back?’ “
    “Then don’t say that.”
    “Thank you, Counselor.”
    “What’s wrong with calling him to let him know you’ve been thinking of him, then just allowing the job news to work its way into conversation in due course? Besides, this is a murderless story. Doesn’t that solve a lot of problems right there?”
    “I hope so.”
    “Call him.”
    “It’s not that simple.”
    “Of course it is.”
    “How many times have you called an ex just to say you were thinking of them?”
    “I never think of my exes.”
    “Comforting.”
    “Yes, but I come from the scorched-earth school of dating, while you are one of those irritating girls who can be taken home to Mother when things are going well and remembered fondly after they tank.”
    “Do I apologize at this point?”
    “Not to me. But you could always run a mea culpa past Detective Edwards.”
    “Wait. It’s not all my fault.”
    “No, but there’s this fascinating concept we call ‘contributory negligence’ that might apply.”
    I had no worthy response. It was easy to say that my relationship with Kyle winding up on the rocks wasn’t all my fault, but it was impossible to say I wasn’t partly to blame.
    “I’ll take your silence as an admission that you’re at least going to think about it. Nothing wrong with a little show of vulnerability, Molly. I happen to think Kyle struggles with your lack of it, so he might respond to a quick flash here.”
    “Maybe.” I did need to think it through, though, rehearse it in my head a bit. This conversation was too important to improvise.
    “Don’t start thinking,” Cassady said presciently. “You’ll talk yourself out of it, and that would be a huge mistake.”
    “Did Ben call you?”
    “No, but he should have. Great minds and all that.”
    “Could we move on for the moment? Will you join Tricia and me for a little celebration this evening?”
    “Only if you’ve called Kyle by the time I see you.”
    I hesitated, trying to manufacture a plausible excuse, but Cassady cleared her throat impatiently. “I promise.”
    “That wasn’t so hard.”
    “That wasn’t calling him.”
    “That won’t be hard either.”
    “Says the woman who’s never done it.”
    “Show me the way. The Bubble Lounge at six.”
    “Bring Aaron, too,” I added. Aaron was a droll physics professor who was demonstrating impressive longevity in the role of Cassady’s boyfriend. It can be difficult to integrate new men into our circle, but Aaron had slid into the dynamics with ease and bemusement.
    “I believe he has a seminar, but I’ll ask, just to show you care. Will you be bringing Kyle?”
    “Pace yourself. And me,” I requested before exchanging good-byes and hanging up.
    I left my hand on the phone, as though breaking the connection would let what resolve I’d summoned while talking to Cassady drain away. Was I making this all too hard? Was it really as simple as calling Kyle and saying, “I miss you and I’d like to see you”? But that wasn’t simple at all—if, in fact, that was even the question to ask. Had years of writing an advice column in a women’s magazine taught me nothing?
    Dear Molly ,
    Why are the most important questions in life the hardest ones to ask? Like “Am I happy?” and “Is this really what I want out of life?” and “Do you