Free Cold Summer Nights by Sean Thomas Fisher, Esmeralda Morin Page A

That’s terrible news,” he said gently, dropping his eyes to his mug.
    “Is it okay if I take Wednesday off for her funeral?”
    Bill’s eyes popped back up. “Absolutely. Take tomorrow off too if you need it.”
    “I think I will. Thanks.”
    Bill shifted in his stance in the doorway and took a slow sip. He swallowed, staring at Nick. “It’s always hard losing a grandparent who has been around since before you were even born.”
    Nick nodded, unzipping his laptop case. “It is, but I’m sure she’s a lot happier now. That place was brutal.”
    Bill shook his gray crew cut. “That’s no way to go out, which is why I try to go biking as often as possible,” he said, patting his flat stomach.
      Nick smiled and took out his laptop. “How’d your weekend go?” he asked, eager to change the subject.
    Bill inhaled deeply and released it. “Well, mine went a little bit smoother than yours. Got the cars washed, did some grilling, my son got beat by a girl at the state wrestling tournament.”
    Nick stopped punching buttons on the laptop and looked up to meet Bill’s eyes. “What?”
    His boss raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yep, finally got the cars all washed up.”
    Nick squinted and shook his head. “No, the other part…about your son.”
    Bill tilted his head back. “Oh that. Evidently they let girls wrestle in high school now and lucky me, my son drew the card.”
    Nick snorted. “Don’t they have…girl wrestling leagues or something?”
    Bill sipped some more hot coffee and grimaced with its heat. “Apparently not. And now my son will probably turn into a serial killer. He didn’t take it too well.”
    Nick tried not to laugh. “That is so wrong. I mean, you win, big deal you beat a girl. If you lose, you got beat by a girl.”
    Bill chuckled. “Tell me about it. His mother wants to take his shoelaces.”
    This time the laugh escaped Nick’s lips.
    “Personally, I’m more afraid of finding a collection of soiled female panties hiding underneath his mattress than anything else. Maybe some of those female shoe catalogues with the pages all stuck together.”
    Nick arched an eyebrow at him. “Okay, I should probably get some work done.”
    “Which reminds me,” Bill said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and dropping it onto Nick’s desk.
    Nick’s eyes followed the paper to its resting position next to his office phone.
    “Carla’s out sick today, so I’m going to need you to show the Manning house at ten o’clock this morning,” Bill said, slamming back some more of the dark brew.
    The smell of burnt toast suddenly wafted into Nick’s office from down the hall, prompting his toaster - sitting next to the milk and eggs in the fridge - to flash through his mind. He stared at the folded up piece of paper on the desk as the clock on the wall across from him ticked off each passing second. Why would anyone put a toaster in the refrigerator, asleep or not? And why was there always something wrong with every girl he ever dated. Something he couldn’t get past, like sneaking around with bartenders who looked like they should be on The Jersey Shore .
    “Nick?”
    Nick’s eyes jerked up to his boss. “Huh?”
    Bill squinted at him. “You okay?”
    He grabbed the paper and began unfolding it. “Yeah. Ten o’clock. Gotcha,” he said, staring at a picture of a nicely manicured three bedroom/two bath Beaverdale brown brick.
    “You are free at ten, right?”
    Nick glanced up to see Bill’s eyebrows high up on his forehead, awaiting Nick’s reply. “Yeah, I’m free.”
    “Now, the lady you are meeting, Ms. Gardner, has already looked at the place twice so I want you to go in for the kill on this one, Nick,” he said firmly, as if he was commanding Nick to clear a burning village. “We can’t afford to waste any more time with her. I want you to sweep the leg.”
    Nick tilted his head, his mouth hanging open, and stared into Bill’s dead serious eyes. “Was