Kitty Litter Killer Read Online Free

drooling.
    “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.” He winked at April, waved, turned on his heel, and strolled out of the shop.
    I thought April had stopped breathing again. I patted her arm. “It’s okay. He only said hello. He didn’t declare his undying love or anything.” I paused. “Okay, well, he didn’t really say hello; he said, ‘Hey, April.’”
    “I know.” She took a deep breath, which relieved me. I had been afraid she was going to faint. “Wow.” She turned glazed eyes toward me. “He knows my name.”
    “April!” Gail hollered. “We need you over here.”
    “Gail knows your name, too,” I murmured.
    April stood up, mumbled good-bye to me, and floated back to work. At least she’d been distracted from looking for another job.
    As I ate my sandwich, I watched my mother and Gail. Now they were making wide swaths around each other to avoid accidentally touching, and there was no eye contact between them at all. When they did speak, their words were clipped and harsh. I found myself wishing one of them would just turn to the other and say something nice. Like I’d felt when I observed Jaylene and Henry.
    A simple effort on the part of just one of them could end the ongoing hostility.

Chapter Two

    As I turned the key in the SUV, my cell phone rang from the depths of my purse. I flung pens, receipts, and other things aside as I dug for it. As was my habit, I didn’t bother to look at the screen to check the caller ID.
    I jammed the phone against my ear. “Hello?”
    “Patricia?”
    The caller was the one person in the world who calls me by my given name. Lady Angelica Louise Carmichael Cunningham, otherwise known as my mother-in-law.
    “Hello, Angelica.” Despite my best efforts not to be intimidated, I always find myself speaking more properly with her.
    “How are you, dear?”
    “I’m fine. How are you?” Angelica never calls me without a reason, so I stiffened in preparation for whatever she was going to say.
    “I’m well. How are the children?”
    “Everyone is good.” I opened the center console in the SUV and pawed through the contents, looking for a headset. I found cleansing wipes, a bottle of germ killer, pens, fast-food napkins, and a slightly used mint. Where was my headset? “The kids are fine. So is Max.”
    I heard her brief intake of breath and braced myself for what she would say next.
    “Has Sammie stopped indulging in her unfortunate. . .habit?”
    I dropped the lid on the console. It bounced once then shut.
    “Mamamamamamamama,” Chris chanted from his car seat.
    “What’s that noise?” Angelica asked. “Are you still there?”
    “It’s Chris. I’m here.” Talking with gritted teeth and stiff lips is nearly impossible.
    “Did you hear my question? Has Sammie—”
    “Sammie is fine,” I said, trying to force my jaw muscles to relax.
    “I’ve spoken to some of my friends and found the name of a child psychiatrist.”
    This is a test, I told myself. Only a test. Chris began smacking his hands on his car seat in rhythm with his repetitious monosyllable.
    “Patricia?”
    I took a deep breath. “Sammie is going to be fine. She’s just developed a habit of picking things up off the floor and putting them in her pockets. It’s not a big deal. She’s—”
    “Kleptomania is a serious mental disorder, dear.”
    “Klepto. . .what are you saying? What exactly did Max tell you she’s doing?”
    “Stealing,” Angelica said.
    I knew my husband would never say such a thing. He had agreed with me that it was probably just a phase. At least that’s what he told me.
    “She’s not stealing,” I said. “She’s a neatnik. She just picks things up off the ground and the floor.”
    “And puts them in her pockets!” Angelica sighed long and hard. “Sometimes it takes longer for mothers to see the truth about their children.”
    Well, that was an accurate statement, but I happen to know that a person’s version of the truth can be subjective, based on