Free Murdermobile (Portland Bookmobile Mysteries) by B.B. Cantwell Page A

through is, well, normal, and that they’re not some kind of freak without
a friend in the world.” She sniffed. “And maybe you thought I was always Little
Miss Sweetness and Light, but when I was 12, I, for one, could have used a
little more of that kind of reassurance once in a while.”
    Hester grabbed Karen’s hand. “Oh,
Karen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. You’ve just – Well, you’ve kind of
blindsided me on this one.”
    Suddenly, a thought transformed
Hester’s sympathy. “Boy, are you the faker! All these months of ‘Got any Teri
Junes?!’ This is just so bizarre. I mean, I know you’ve been a staunch defender
of her’s – uh, yours – but really, all this time I was just clueless!”
    Karen allowed a small smile. “I was pretty good, wasn’t I? I have to say, it was tough at first. But like I said,
once it became a habit, it was probably a lot like JFK telling Jackie she was
his one and only snooky-ookums.”
    “Wow.” Hester shook her head and
gulped the last of her espresso. “Congratulations, I think.” She waved toward
the counter and caught the barista’s eye, then called across the room. “Emilio,
we definitely need another round!”
    Slowly, a smile spread across
Karen’s face. Finally, she giggled. “I’m so glad you know.”
    Hester giggled back. The man in
the deerstalker scraped his chair loudly and huffily whisked past them on his
way out the door.
    Karen looked down at the table
for a moment, then spoke again. “But you can’t tell anybody.”
    Hester raised her eyebrows in
question.
    “It’s Steve. I – I don’t want him
hurt. He’s such a lamb, really – You’ve seen him with the girls. They adore
him. And I do, too, really, though it’s been kind of a long haul. He’s a
sweetheart. And ever since McCluskey Wright sacked him – ”
    “What?” Hester blurted. “He was
fired? You never told me that!”
    “Oh, dear. My turn to apologize,
Hester. I’m afraid it’s part and parcel of the same situation, though. Steve had
such high ambitions. You know, I wrote my first Teri June when he was in his
final year of grad school up at the U of W. Lord, you should have seen the
hovel we called an apartment, up in the rafters of this old firetrap on
Brooklyn – of course, at that age, we just called it bohemian. But we were so poor, the student loan payments were coming soon, I was pregnant with Heidi –
believe me, it was desperation time.” Karen gave a sad smile of nostalgia.
    “And somehow, I sold the first
book I wrote. I sent it in a manila envelope to an agent I picked out of the
Yellow Pages, right there in Seattle – she’s now the biggest agency in town,
thanks to yours truly. I guess I’m just good at it. Some people are.”
    She turned to welcome a second
cup of Black Ocelot from the cheerful Emilio. “Got any rum to put in that?”
Hester asked him with a wink.
    “Sorry, loves, just had a busload
of blue-hairs through from that Jesus Northwest convention and they drank the
place dry,’’ he said, twirling one end of his mustache as he hustled back
behind the counter with the five-dollar bill Hester handed him. Karen turned
back to Hester, carefully choosing her next words.
    “Steve, unfortunately, isn’t
exactly gifted in his chosen profession.”
    Puzzlement flashed across
Hester’s face. “But all that about setting up his own firm, how clients were
wooing him right and left – “
    “None of it true. Guilty as
charged. And I am truly sorry.” Karen put her hand over her eyes. “Oh, what a
mess. Hester, please forgive me for letting this all go so far. The thing is,
Steve couldn’t cut it at the big firm. He did so well in school, honestly. But
he just wasn’t corporate. Going straight to the big office was a monumental
mistake. All over Portland, architects were doing wonderful things like the
Portland Building; KOIN Tower; RiverPlace. And Steve was on the losing side of
every proposal, at the firm that was always supposed