Free Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 by Lori G. Armstrong Page B

smiled. “No. Bossman keeps you to himself.”
    I froze.
    His smile disappeared. “Shit. Th
    at didn’t come out
    right.”
    “Believe me, I’ve noticed how little he and I get out.”
    We drank our beer in the dead silence, the bodyguard and the secret girlfriend.
    I crushed out my cigarette and ducked under the partition. “Let’s keep my previous slinging drinks experience between us.”
    Suspicion lit his eyes. As Martinez’s bodyguard he considered everything a threat. Even little ol’ me.
    “It doesn’t have anything to do with Martinez. Just bad memories I’d rather not drown in, okay?”
    After a second, he grudgingly said, “All right.”
    I went back to my real job. I didn’t share my upcom-92

    ing moonlighting gig with Kevin. I wasn’t getting paid, so technically I wasn’t violating our understanding.
    But part of me felt like Martinez had violated my trust just by asking.
    93

    As Kevin and I rolled up the Everett driveway, I said, “Seems like I should be bringing a meat tray or something.”
    “Th
    is is not exactly a social occasion. When did you turn into Miss Manners anyway?”
    “I’ve always been Miss Manners—mine have just been bad.”
    Kevin reached for the volume control on the CD
    player. Foo Fighters’ Gimme Stitches faded into the background. “I have a bad feeling about this, Jules.”
    I did too.
    Th
    e mangy dog bounding down the steps looked
    half Border Collie/half wolf. A ferocious bark meant nothing when I noticed the long, swishy tail wagging in welcome.
    94

    “I hate dogs,” I said.
    “You and me both.”
    Neither Kevin nor I were pet people, something pet people don’t understand, and was useless to try and explain. I’m not talking about PETA fanatics. I’m talking normal people who boast about “loving all animals.”
    It bothered me that animal lovers were willing to spend piles of money on pet food, pet grooming, pet toys, and pet medication, wouldn’t cross the street to give a homeless person a sandwich. Sobering, to think dogs and cats and are treated better than some children in this country.
    A beat-up Harley Davidson was parked next to the Cavalier.
    Th
    e dog barked twice. Th
    e front door opened and
    June stuck her head out. “Rusty! Shut up!”
    Rusty turned tail and slunk around the side of the house.
    Kevin and I looked at each other again. He mouthed,
    “Rusty?”
    I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Rusty” didn’t have a speck of red fur. Made me think of the dog in Family Vacation . I made a quick survey of the area. We could’ve stepped onto the set of a low budget Chevy Chase movie.
    Th
    en I spied the smashed up four-wheeler and remembered this was no laughing matter.
    95

    A tall, skeletal man with stringy black hair stopped and glared at us. He wore a faded black T-shirt with the words LED visible beneath a red jacket identical to the one Lang had died in. “Who’re you?”
    June came up behind him. “Th
    ese are Lang’s friends
    from Rapid City.”
    Her red-rimmed eyes pleaded for us to play along.
    “What’re they doin’ here?”
    “Payin’ their respects. Ah, this is my brother, Jeff Colhoff .”
    “Kevin,” he said, thrusting out his hand. “Sorry for your loss.”
    “Julie.” I followed Kevin’s fi rst name only lead. “I’m sorry too.”
    June placed her hand on Jeff ’s shoulder. “Th anks
    for coming with me today, string bean. Don’t think I could’ve done it by myself.”
    Jeff crushed her in a bear hug. “Don’t need to tell me thanks, Junebug.”
    June began to bawl.
    Kevin and I were helpless to do anything besides stand and watch June Everett fall apart in her brother’s arms.
    I had to look away. Despite the sad event, they had each other. It was more than a lot of people had.
    Kevin’s warm hand grabbed mine and squeezed.
    I squeezed back.
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    Finally, Jeff released her. “You need anything, call me, all right? Don’t matter what time it is, call me and I’ll be right