Free Killing Katie (An Affair With Murder) (Volume 1) by B.A. Spangler Page B

waiting for him to put his arms around me. “I am sorry. I’ll go talk to him.” Steve cupped his hand on the lower part of my back and led me to the door.
    “Love you, babe.”
    Snacks was on me as soon as I pressed my feet into the plush carpet of our children’s playroom. I called it a playroom, preferring the warmer, cozier, more joyful name over the usual, stationary names—basement or cellar. With a heated floor and all the finishes of the rest of the house, playroom seemed more fitting. Snacks folded her arms and legs around my calf, clutching the back of my jeans while squatting on my foot and preparing for a ride. It was a good thing I’d changed into something that was more mommy than business. Heels just wouldn’t have worked in this situation.
    “Ride ride ride,” she yelled, wanting me to walk. A smile peered at me from her upturned face. I shook my head when seeing her dark blonde hair laying tangled and out of control, strands of it pasted to her cheek with dried spaghetti sauce.
    “Didn’t you let Daddy clean you up?”
    “Come on, Momma!”
    “Hold on now,” I told her as I took long sweeps of my feet across the room. I grunted as I walked and tried to sound like a monstrous machine moving an impossibly heavy load. “Time to exit.”
    “Aww, Momma,” she complained and tugged on my pants leg until I felt the jeans slip from my backside. “Just a little more?”
    “Sorry, girl, but that’s all that I have for you,” I said. She let go of my leg and sought out something else to play with. “Hey, Snacks?”
    She darted a hopeful look and raced back over. I grabbed her little body and squeezed until she began to squirm. Michael glanced over the couch, but then turned back to the television.
    “Another ride?” she asked.
    “No more rides,” I answered, shaking my head. “But I think Daddy has something for you upstairs.” And without another word, Snacks was off in a run. I heard the thumps of little feet clopping up the stairs and followed them with my eyes as they moved across the ceiling.
    Michael kept his stare fixed on the video game, ignoring me when I sat down next to him. Now would be a good time to tell him about my work. Not the real work, of course, but that his father wouldn’t be the only one working . . . so to speak.
    “Got a second?” I asked, having no expectations.
    “Can it wait until I’m done?”
    “What are you playing?” I asked, glancing at the screen. I recognized the game, remembering lengthy discussions about whether or not a first-person shooter was appropriate. Steve objected, wanting to wait another year. I would have given him the same game three years earlier, when Michael discovered there was more to gaming than Mario and Luigi and a funny-looking princess that never needed saving.
    “C.O.D.,” he answered without breaking stride in a run toward his next ambush. I shivered against the chill in the playroom and snuggled up next to him. When he didn’t budge, I snuggled even closer, trying to warm myself and to thaw the barrier he’d put up between us.
    “I’m sorry that I was late,” I began, gauging him, waiting. His fingers stopped moving, his character on the screen stood still as if surveying a war-torn landscape filled with the dead and dying. “Listen, I’m going to start working part time soon and will probably be late again. Is that okay?”
    “Do you want me to take care of Snacks?” he asked, setting his game controller down to look at me. He had more questions on his face than hurt, and was completely adorable asking about his sister. I melted and forgot what I was going to say next.
    “I love you,” I told him, hugging him whether he wanted me to or not. “I’m sorry that you were worried about me.”
    “Just call next time,” he said, his voice sounding muffled against my shirt. “I can take care of Snacks if you want me to.”
    “That’s very sweet. We’re going to ask your grandma to help out.”
    “So