Free Book Club Killer by Mary Maxwell Page A

target,” I
said. “They might’ve been after Tucker. And it may have been somebody that
works for his company.”
    The lopsided smile on my husband’s
face vanished in a flash. He scowled, asked me to explain and I quickly filled
him in on what Sonja and I learned during our conversation at Skinny Skeleton.
    “And she thought the license said
zebra?” he asked when I finished. “That’s a far cry from zephyr.”
    I shrugged. “Yeah, I know. But
we’re not talking about a nuclear physicist, okay? She’s a scatterbrained woman
dressed in black leather and covered in tattoos.”
    Ben chuckled. “Sounds like
somebody’s being a little judgmental.”
    “Give me a break,” I said. “You
know what I mean. The last thing on earth that she’s thinking about is who
killed my friend. But she definitely saw the SUV that picked up Sonja’s brother
on Saturday. And it was a black Escalade with personalized plates that had one
word and a number. She thought it was zebra, but I’m guessing it was zephyr.”
    “Based on what?”
    “Women’s intuition,” I said,
lifting my wine glass. “Now, let’s focus on what we’re going to eat for dinner.
That sound okay?”
    “It’s about time,” Matt droned.
“I’m starved!”
    Sam groaned and clutched his
stomach. “Yeah, Mom. When are we gonna eat?”
    Ben motioned for our server, a
roly-poly man with a pencil mustache. He zipped over, took our order and headed
for the kitchen.
    “Can you hold on for another few
minutes?” I asked Sam.
    He grumbled something and slouched
in his seat. Ben told him to sit up straight, a request that was met with
another flurry of mumbled discord.
    “If you can’t behave, we can leave
right now,” my husband said.
    Our son suddenly bolted upright and
flashed a wide grin. “I’ll be good,” he said. “I really want to eat here. The
food at home…” He paused, tipping his gaze at me. “Well, I’ll be good,” he
added. “And I’ll zip it.”
    He pulled his Game Boy from
somewhere under the table and began tapping contentedly on the keys. Ben poked
my leg and chuckled. “That’s one way to achieve a nice, quiet dinner.”
    I shook my head, and was just about
to say something when a tall man with a deep tan and broad shoulders suddenly
appeared at our table. A rail-thin woman with dark hair and a plunging neckline
that left nothing to the imagination clung to his arm with covetous fervor.
    “Mr. Truscott!” my husband said,
scooting out of the booth and shaking the man’s hand. “What a nice surprise!”
    I’d heard about Brock Truscott so
many times in the past few weeks that I wasn’t surprised he was a sleek,
burnished package accompanied by a woman who would’ve been right at home in the
pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. They both looked primped and polished;
expensive jewelry, trim figures and bleached teeth that glowed slightly as they
grinned down at me and the boys.
    “This must be…” Truscott began,
clearly struggling to remember my name. “Ben’s wife and sons.” He reached for
my hand. It was warm and strong as he gave me a firm shake. “I’ve heard a lot
about you.”
    “Likewise,” I said. “Ben’s told me
all about your company. It sounds like a very exciting time for everyone.”
    Truscott nodded at the woman on his
arm. “This is Amanda Winslow,” he said. “My fiancé and the future mother of my
future children.”
    The dark-haired woman looked at me
with a watery smile. “A pleasure,” she purred, making it obvious that meeting
me was anything but enjoyable.
    “So?” Truscott said to my husband.
“We’ll see you at the office tomorrow at nine?”
    Ben confirmed the appointment
before Truscott offered a few more rhetorical remarks about meeting our family.
Then he guided the slender waif toward a table near the bar.
    “Well, that was pretty random,” Ben
said quietly.
    I smiled and sipped my wine.
    “What’s that mean?” asked Matt. “Is
that guy a creep or